Red vs Blue: The Syn-Gen Stratagem - Year One
by EthanFlux
Summary: Before Red vs Blue, even before Project: Freelancer had begun, Earth was trying to find a way to combat The Covenant. Follow Mitchell Paxx as he is caught up in a war he doesn't want to fight. One man's solution is another man's problem. Review/PM!
1. War Story

Red vs. Blue: The Syn-Gen Stratagem

Year One

Chapter One: War Story

**Hello everyone, new and old, and welcome to The Syn-Gen Stratagem; my latest foray into the Red vs. Blue Universe. A continuation of my previous RvB FanFiction series, Year One is set shortly after the beginning of the Human/Covenant war, preceding both RvB and Project: Freelancer, the latter only by a few months (and even then, I am talking about the very beginning of Project: Freelancer, not when it starts off in Season Nine).**

**Syn-Gen was really an afterthought I had while pondering how I would ever get over not being able to write the original six characters created in RvBvG, but I figured that if I couldn't continue them then continuing their story would be a better way for me. Anyway, enough gabbling! Please enjoy Year One and don't forget to PM or send a review.**

* * *

"Have you ever seen anything like this? It's really beautiful and frightening when you think about it."

"How so, sir?" asked Private Rex.

"You look out at a view like this; the stars and space and all; you're usually doing it from Earth. There's a pattern and you recognise that pattern even if you don't remember it. Being so far down on the planet, the atmosphere makes them look so small and far away, they're unbelievable; untouchable so you just can't comprehend it."

"I think our beloved Colonel here's gone loopy on us at the last second, boys." Smiled Rex. The platoon chuckled along with the joke. "Perhaps he's seein' more stars than there are out that window."

"Shut up, Private." Warned Sergeant Friday. "Your Colonel is being profound."

"Well now," pondered Rex. "I wouldn't want to interrupt him when he's in one of those _**insightful**_ moods. Go 'head, sir." He allowed his commanding officer to continue.

"From here, high up, there's no atmo, no clouds, no distractions. Just you and the unspoilt view of starlight, the right sizes, all of 'em. It's here that you can look up at them and actually _**believe**_ that there's a galaxy out there." Mitchell paused, staring out the porthole view of the night sky outside.

"That was quite amazing, what you said." Complemented Private Kurtz. "What did you hope to get across with those words?"

"Oh, nothing much." Admitted Mitchell. "I was thinking of writing a wartime poem, sell it and make millions after the war." He laughed along with the platoon.

"You need talent to pull that off, sir." Joked Rex.

"Yeah, and you need a breath mint but don't worry; I haven't heard Higgins complain yet about your frenches!" rebutted Mitchell. Higgins was not amused. He slouched even tighter in the corner while everyone else chuckled at his expense. "Hey, come on now." Mitchell called to Higgins, seeing he wasn't happy. "You shouldn't take offence to that. I was only kidding."

"Yes!" exaggerated Higgins. "And while your _**'kidding'**_ makes us all lucid and worry free, Covenant soldiers are warming up their munitions to make sure we won't even make it into battle as pieces. Had you forgotten that part?" Friday raised himself tall.

"That is a superior office you're talking to, Private!" he barked.

"Sorry." Came Higgins' faux apology. "Had you forgotten that part, _**sir**_?" Higgins slumped back into the wall, the whole platoon caught in a nervous silence. They looked from Higgins to Mitchell in anticipation of the retaliation of a lifetime. Simply and calmly, Mitchell stood and kept his balance as best he could as he crossed to the far corner of the Pelican's cargo hold. Higgins looked up at the Colonel; he didn't care what was about to happen. He could be shot for all the good it would do, he'd be killed in battle anyway.

"Private." Began Mitchell. He knelt down to Higgins' eye level. "Peter. I don't pretend to be ignorant of death. In a war; death is ignorant of who it strikes. It doesn't care who's life it's ruined or which side comes out on top. If it doesn't care about me, you or any of these arseholes, why should I let the fear of death take me over?" Mitchell patted Higgins on the shoulder and stood up. "I won't get into all that 'we die for glory' crap." He said loudly, getting a few chuckles. "'Eat hardy and dine in hell' shit. We all came here for a reason. There's no one story to tell us why we're all here, we all have our own individual unique life and the thought that pulls me through every battle, every conflict we go through is...it can't end with death."

"_Attention. We're coming in for a landing." _Said the pilot over the P.A. _"We may experience some turbulence and explosions as this is illegal airspace over the third moon of Terminus we're coming in to. If we do happen to crash, hold onto whatever and whoever you can and please close all windows and hatches; it could get a little drafty in there." _Bang! The ship shuddered violently. _"Here's the welcoming party now."_ Flashes of light engulfed the sky outside. Mitchell peeked out through the window; the stars had disappeared, replaced by a fleet of Pelicans diving towards the moon amidst a flurry of explosions. A nearby Pelican was struck by anti-aircraft fire and dropped like a stone towards the ground.

"Once we land, stay in formation and keep your head down!" called Mitchell over the enemy fire. "I do not want one of you dead before I can give a goddamn order! No excuses, understood?"

"Yes sir!" chanted the platoon in unison. The ship shuddered again, groaning at its corners.

"_Not to worry, we've hit the atmosphere." _Informed the pilot. _"We should reach our destination in T-minus two minutes. That is, if we don't crash and die first."_

"Barrel of laughs, that one." Commented Friday.

"Colonel Paxx!" called out a Corporal to Mitchell. "I heard you were one of the candidates for the Spartan Two program at Reach! Why aren't you there?"

"Spartans get all the cushion-y assignments, Corporal Edd." Answered Friday for Mitchell who smiled. "Mitchell wouldn't miss a fight this violent for the world."

"Sir?" Edd asked, looking at Mitchell for a confirmation.

"What he said." Agreed Mitchell.

"I reckon you're both nuts!" shouted Rex. "Should'a transferred outta here like Sergeant Christianson. He was a smart cookie."

"You're just happy he's not here to kick your butt in poker anymore." Insulted Kurtz. The Pelican shook again, this time not stopping.

"_Attention passengers, we've taken damage. Now would be a good time to finalise a will."_

"Hold on to something, gents!" ordered Mitchell. Friday took a spot by him.

"Urgh." He groaned. "I knew it was a big ask to live to see twenty five-fifty."

"That the year or your age?"

"Eh, shut up."

"_We're on a good level for drop off." _Said the pilot. _"Landing in T-minu-" _CRASH! The Pelican went berserk; throwing several men around the cargo hold.

"What the fuck was that?" asked Rex over the loud whistle the Pelican was making. The cockpit door opened and out stumbled the pilot, ablaze with fire, screaming in searing pain. Kurtz grabbed the nearest extinguisher and put the pilot out but it was too late. Rex rushed over to the cockpit, but it too was on fire. He was pushed back by the heat of the flames. "Fuck!" he cursed, turning back to Mitchell. "This thing ain't got no steering anymore!"

"How does the trajectory look?" asked Mitchell.

"We're gonna hit land at some point!"

"Is it straight?"

"More or less!"

"Brace for a crappy landing, boys!" ordered Mitchell.

* * *

It was a softer landing than expected. Still rough but a lighter impact. The drag however left much to be desired. When the Pelican came to a complete stop, Friday and Kurtz broke open the emergency hatch and started the evacuation. Friday spotted a dizzy Mitchell trying to unbuckle himself. He jumped off the hatch, pushed through a dozen soldiers and cut off the restraints. "Don't think the army'll bitch about taking these off."

"You've not been in the army long, have you?" joked Mitchell. As Friday pulled him out of the chair, he saw Higgins sprawled on the floor, not wanting to get up. "Have the men ready and in formation when I meet you outside." He said to Friday who helped the men up and out of the hatch. Mitchell stomped over to Higgins and heaved him to his feet. "You're not getting out of this battle that easily."

"Damn." Scoffed Higgins as Mitchell led him to the ladder. They both climbed atop the Pelican and slid down the side.

"Everyone! Stick to the plan; form up at that impact crater!" he yelled over the gunfire and mortar blasts. The platoon jogged towards the burning lights along with the other soldiers charging from their own drop ships. In the near distance were formations of Covenant soldiers, all firing at the approaching human army. Mixed in with them was a line of Shade turrets blasting away at the landing Pelicans up in the sky and several attempting to take off. In the far distance stood the outpost; silhouetted by the large planet behind it. It would have been stunning had the skyline not been ruined by the flurry of plasma rifles and fuel rod discharges. Chaos wasn't a word that could come close to describing the scene. Mitchell and his platoon dove into the cleft and out of the enemy fire. "Sound off!"

"We're all here!" informed Friday.

"Good start!" commented Mitchell. "Captain Whimsy, fall in!" A young man crawled over the other soldiers and scrunched himself down by Mitchell.

"Here sir!" he yelled.

"Two things I want you to do! First; you and Friday take a squad and flank to the right while I take a squad and flank from the left! Second; when we get back to Earth, requisition yourself a new last name! Every time I need you to do something, it sounds like I'm calling for one of the seven fucking dwarves!"

"I'll keep that in mind, sir!" agreed Whimsy.

"Good man!" Mitchell turned his attention to the rest of the platoon. "While we're making our pincer movement, you provide covering fire or if you run out of ammo, something for them to shoot at!"

"Is that an actual tactic, Colonel?" asked Rex.

"Leaving your subordinates for cannon fodder? Yeah, pretty much! Right, move out!" Mitchell, Kurtz, Edd and four other soldiers ran on their haunches through the small snowy fissure leading up to the Shade line. It had only just occurred to them that the moon, Nova Prime, was covered in a thick sheet of snow. Amidst the fighting and movement, they hadn't noticed the ice as it scrunched under their feet. Mitchell looked across, only just spotting several helmets bobbing up and down to the right that could only be Friday, Whimsy and their men.

"Don't they know how to keep their heads down?" asked Edd who was looking at the same thing that Mitchell was.

"They know what they're doing." Assured Mitchell and was proven right when the other squad came under attack.

"Hostiles in sight! Open fire!" they heard Friday shout from across the field.

"Perfect." Smiled Mitchell. His squad advanced through the trench and up to the nearest Shade they could find. It was firing at the other squad, bombarding them with blue plasma. Around it was a group of Covenant Grunts and Jackals on the lookout. Mitchell unclipped a grenade from his belt, pulled the pin and chucked it into the middle of the group. They stared at it for a moment, wondering what it could be.

"What is it?" one Jackal asked. The Grunt next to him picked up the grenade as the other Covenant soldiers walked closer to get a better look.

"It looks like a spider." Described the Grunt.

"Oh!" nodded the Jackal. "What's a spider?" he asked and was answered with the explosion that left him and his group dead. The Shade turned and opened fire on Mitchell and his men, taking one of them out before the little Grunt inside was hit by Friday's sniper rifle.

"That could have gone worse." Said Friday, he and his squad re-joining the others.

"Casualties?" asked Mitchell.

"Two. I see you've lost one."

"Signal the rest to fall in and get on the horn to Command. Tell 'em that we have a window open." Ordered Mitchell. "If we can take this moon today and set up a defence to stop The Covenant from coming into our solar system then I want it done today."

"Sure thing, Colonel." Said Friday, waving at the rest of the platoon to fall in while Kurtz radioed Command and Mitchell set up defensive positions.

Rex saw Friday's signal and turned to the platoon. "Move up!" he shouted and everyone climbed over the crater and stalked across the field. Suddenly; a large fireball sent several men flying into the air. Rex turned back and spotted a whole fleet of flying alien aircraft, sending blue and green orbs of plasma into the attacking groups of humans.

"Banshees." Gaped Friday, staring in horror at the flying devils. "They weren't detected on this moon. How did they get here?" Mitchell wasn't listening. He pointed at the overturned Shade.

"Get that thing upright, now!" he shouted. Edd, Whimsy and Friday tried to push it back on its feet, but it was too heavy.

Rex pulled the rocket launcher off his back and turned around to face the oncoming Banshee. "Fire!" He shouted as he sent a rocket into the face of the Banshee. It crashed before him, skidding to a halt in front of him. "That's how we do it in the Milky Way." He spat at the shuttle and met up with the platoon. "Chump." Said Rex simply.

"Don't get too far up your arse, Private. War's not over yet." Sneered Mitchell. "Edd; you're on anti-aircraft duty. Take over that Shade and give us some cover."

"On it." Said Edd, hopping into the Shade.

"The Covenant _**are**_gonna counter-attack from in front and behind so I want most of you to hold the fort here while Friday,..." Mitchell looked around the platoon, picking out the soldiers he wanted. "...Whimsy, Rex, Minnelli, Baker, Kurtz,..." he spotted Higgins looking down at his feet, obviously anticipating Mitchell's decision. "...Higgins..." Mitchell paused, waiting for his reaction. Higgins nodded. "...and I will sabotage their outpost. Don't let 'em break ya!"

* * *

"Hey."

"Yeah?"

"Do you ever wonder why we're here?"

"That's one of life's great mysteries; why are we here? Is it because of some great cosmic coincidence or is there really a God watching over us? I don't know man, but it keeps me up at night."

"Okay. Thanks." Said the Hunter. "Not much good, but thanks."

"What? Did you expect me to have an answer?" asked the Jackal. "It's such an open ended question. For all I know, you could have been asking why we were here on this moon guarding this outpost. Let me make my point by asking you a question."

"Shoot."

"Do you think that you are the only person to stop and ask someone 'why are we here'?" The Jackal crossed his arms, waiting for the Hunter's reply.

"Umm..." thought the Hunter. "...I don't know."

"Uh-huh, and do you think you will be the only person ever for the rest of time to ask that question?"

"How should I know?" shrugged the Hunter.

"See, now you know exactly how I feel about your question."

"What are you two doing out here?" came the voice of the Elite from the outpost entrance.

"What a coincidence." Said the skittish Jackal. "We were just pondering that same question."

"Our reports of the battle say that it's heading south for us." Informed the Elite. "Pretty soon, this place will be under attack by the humans. To survive, we will all need to-" and then the Elite was shot by a sniper.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that last part." Said the Hunter. "We're doing what?"

"Oh my Gods!" Gasped the Jackal. "The Elite, he's-" and then the Jackal was shot by a sniper.

"He's what?" asked the distressed Hunter. "Why is no one finishing their-" and then the Hunter was shot by a rocket launcher. Mitchell and his squad approached the outpost entrance cautiously, making sure the three Covenant were dead.

"Whimsy, Baker; take point." He instructed. "Kurtz, Friday and I will watch your back while Minnelli and Higgins stay here and cover our rears." Higgins was a little surprised by this order. Mitchell leaned in close to whisper. "You never had to go in." he said quietly.

"Thank you." Whispered Higgins, greatly relieved. Mitchell nodded before following the other five into The Covenant outpost. Higgins looked out over the battlefield; both sides had suffered great casualties. Everywhere he looked, human and Covenant were face to face, fighting for their lives. It was obvious from the sight that neither side would come through the victor.

Whimsy peered around the corner and into the control room of The Covenant outpost. Making sure none of the aliens inside were watching, he let Baker cross the doorway and take cover on the other side. Baker scanned the control room, taking note of every enemy inside. "What does he see?" asked Kurtz as Baker started signalling back to Friday.

"He sees two Hunters," translated Friday, "six Elites, five shielded Jackals and a dozen Grunts armed with plasma pistols and rifles. All in enclosed space, vulnerable from point of entry."

"Where's the point of entry?"

"Here." Said Mitchell, turning to Friday. "You and Baker blind 'em and tell Whimsy to turn on the barbeque. I don't want much damage to their equipment, understand?"

"Piece of cake." Friday moved past Whimsy and took up position at the doorframe. Mitchell looked back at Kurtz.

"Watch and learn, kid." He said. On the count of three, Friday and Baker chucked flash bangs into the control room, followed by their namesake. While The Covenant inside roared and chattered in blinded confusion and pain, Whimsy jumped into the doorway and turned up the heat with his flamethrower, scorching the room. After what felt like minutes, he ceased and took cover next to Friday. After a moment's wait, Friday and Baker rounded the doorway and entered the control room, rifles at the ready. Nothing could be seen through the smoke of the automatic extinguishers. Suddenly, from through the mist, a single bolt of plasma struck Baker in the chest, killing him outright. Friday took cover behind a pillar as several more plasma blasts sailed through the air at him. Rex took his place with Whimsy on his tail, both providing covering fire for Friday. Kurtz ran for the door to join in but Mitchell held him back. "No!" he yelled, slamming him into the wall. "You! Wait! Here!" Mitchell ran inside, leaving Kurtz to regain his composure. Mitchell took his place next to Friday. "This could have gone easier!" he joked.

"Yeah, he could have killed you first and I would have command!" yelled back Friday, taking out a Jackal. "Rex! Advance up! On me!" While Mitchell and Whimsy provided covering fire, Friday and Rex quickly charged to the next two pillars and out of fire. Rex looked down next to him and saw a Grunt sitting there. It pulled out its plasma pistol but it only clicked.

"Your weapons suck balls." Insulted Rex before kicking the Grunt into the wall. Meanwhile, a Jackal had snuck up on Whimsy who sent a jet of fire into its shield to no effect. It shot at Whimsy, skimming him in the side, before returning behind its shield.

"Hit it!" shouted Mitchell. Whimsy raised his flamethrower, the Jackal peering over its shield to see what was happening, and hit it straight between the eyes with the butt of the weapon. Mitchell smiled before focusing his attention on the Elite attacking him, pushing him against the wall with only his rifle between them. He smacked the creature in the face and tried to unload a clip into his back when he realise he was out of ammo. "Rex!" he called. "Pass me a clip!" Rex nodded, pulling a magazine out of his overstuffed pouch, leant out of cover and threw it across the room to Mitchell. As it fell into Mitchell's hands, a Jackal shot a fully charged plasma blast into Rex with enough force to throw him back into the wall and land smack on the ground, dead. "Argh!" cried Mitchell, reloading and shooting the Jackal without mercy. In all the carnage, he completely forgot the Elite he was in the middle of fighting who stood up and was ready to shoot Mitchell until it was shot in the head. Mitchell turned around to see Kurtz, his pistol raised at where the Elite had been, the barrel still smoking. He grinned in relief.

"Yes!" he whispered to himself as a blue flash of plasma struck him in the gut. Friday turned around just in time to see Kurtz's smile fade and his eyes dim as he fell to the ground.

"No!" he screamed as he charged for the door, his rifle cutting down the unseen enemies outside. Mitchell wiped his sweaty forehead and sighed the longest sigh of his life. He would have liked to say that this was the worst battle of his career, but that would be a damned lie. Still, this one he knew would stick with him for the rest of his days. He turned to the computer terminal to find an injured Whimsy already hacking into the system.

"How's it coming?" he asked Whimsy.

"Should have it up soon." Whimsy answered.

"I meant the wound." Mitchell looked down at the bleeding chunk in the Captain's side.

"You know that name requisition you requested?" he looked into Mitchell's eyes. "I don't think I'll need it." The computer beeped and the screen was filled with files in alien languages. "All yours, sir." Said Whimsy weakly before sliding down to the floor, holding his side and growing paler by the second. Mitchell leaned in close to the monitor, searching through the database.

"There's tonnes of info here about The Covenant. Nothing about their military base's location. Damn it!" Then he came across something he didn't expect. After he read through it, his eyes turned dark with fury. "Friday!" he barked. "Give me Kurtz's radio!" Friday, who was in the middle of fighting off a couple of Covenant down the hallway, was taken aback by the order.

"Now?" he asked.

"Throw the fucking thing here right now!" he yelled back. When the firing ceased for a moment, Friday wrenched the radio from Kurtz's corpse and slid it across the floor to Mitchell's feet. Mitchell snatched it up and slammed it on the console, turning it on and tuning it. "Come in Command, this is Colonel Paxx." He spat with contained fury.

"_This is Command, go ahead, Paxx."_ Came a woman's voice.

"Situation is a no-go. We cannot secure Nova Prime. Colonisation of Terminus is not advised. Over."

"Sir?" queried Friday over the gun battle, but Mitchell ignored him.

"_Paxx, intelligence shows that you are transmitting from within Nova Prime outpost. Terminus colonisation is still a go."_

"Put me on with your superiors." Ordered Mitchell with great restraint.

"_But-"_

"Now!" he barked.

"_This is Riker." _Came a male voice.

"Terminus colonisation is not advised, sir. I repeat, not advised."

"_Colonel Paxx, Terminus colonisation is not your concern. Your concern is to secure that moon."_

"Our orders are to eliminate Covenant spy outposts around Terminus to set up a line of defence for when The Covenant try to attack Earth, not to destroy a Covenant defence outpost around one of their planets and annihilate a Covenant civilian population!" he yelled back.

"What?" Whimsy gasped, confused.

"You are about to wipe out a defenceless planet full of alien civilians!" continued Mitchell. "You knew about this and _**still**_ are going to kill them all!"

"_It's called '__**fair retaliation**__', Colonel. A phrase I am sure you are familiar with." _Fought back Riker. _"They destroy Harvest and one of our battle groups, kill hundreds of our soldiers every year and you expect us to pass up this opportunity?"_

"We are meant to be better than them!" shouted Mitchell. "How will Earth hold itself up knowing that we stooped to the level of The Covenant?" then it dawned on him. "Earth will never know, will it?"

"_**That**__"_ began Riker; _"is on a need-to-know basis." _The radio turned off. The fighting at the door had stopped and Friday had wandered inside, stunned at the radio argument. He watched as Mitchell pulled out the receiver and threw the box to the ground. Mitchell leant up against the console, trying to control his anger.

"They're gonna bombard this outpost soon...and then move on to the planet to wipe out The Covenant there." He said simply.

"I thought Terminus was uninhabited." Breathed Whimsy, exhausted.

"It's the army, Captain; they lie. We were meant to throw ourselves on the barbed wire while the rest run over us to attack the enemy trench. Only, the enemy trench has nothing to defend itself with."

"Justice." Murmured Whimsy.

"No." refused Mitchell. "Attacking an unarmed civilian population isn't justice, it isn't a point of pride or noble. The Covenant may think it is, but we're not The Covenant. We don't do things their way. If we did, and we won, then the human race would have died during the war." Whimsy looked down at the floor, realising that there was more to war than fighting.

"What are your orders, sir?" asked Friday.

Mitchell thought about it for a moment before saying; "Live." He stood up and reloaded his rifle. "You good to crawl, Whimsy?"

"Actually sir, think I might stay here." Choked Whimsy.

"You'll get killed in the explosion if you're not shot by The Covenant first." Said Friday.

"Figure I can take a couple of 'em out." Slurred Whimsy. He leaned over, revealing the still nearly full fuel tank of the flamethrower strapped to his back. "Those plasma beams are hot, aren't they?" he asked jokingly. With one last smile, Mitchell and Friday left Whimsy in the control room.

"Do you remember the way out?" Mitchell asked Friday.

"I dunno, these halls all look the same to me." Retorted Friday. "Haven't these aliens ever heard of signs?"

Whimsy had just closed his eyes when he heard the sound of shuffling feet around him. Opening them, he saw several aliens standing over him with their pistols raised at him. "Hiya." He said. "Do me a favour and shoot me, would ya?" The Covenant looked at each other in confusion. They didn't think he was all there. "Well, don't all of you open fire at once." The closest Grunt shot him in the chest and all were killed in the resulting explosion. The outpost shook, the walls cracked and splintered all around Mitchell and Friday.

"Come on, we're nearly there!" called back Mitchell to Friday who was struggling to keep up.

"How I want to be fifty again." He panted. Suddenly, the ceiling collapsed, encasing Friday in a cocoon of rubble. Mitchell turned back and pulled away as much debris as he could until Friday's torso was visible. "Leave me!" he grunted.

"I can pull you out!" shouted Mitchell. He heaved at Friday's shoulders but he was pinned tight. Friday cupped Mitchell's face in his hands and held him steady so he could listen.

"Go." He said. "Stop the fleet. Don't let us lose sight of our humanity." Then he threw Mitchell away. "Go!" he shouted. With all his strength, Mitchell got to his feet and continued down the endless tangle of corridors until he reached the entrance. Outside was a pile of dead aliens, strewn out over the snow. In the distance, the fighting was dwindling but the fields were full of the deceased, all cut down in vain. Propped up against the wall of the outpost was Higgins, rifle in his hand, blood on his face, staring ahead, into the sky.

"Higgins?" checked Mitchell, but it was already too late. He turned to see what Higgins was looking at and saw a line of Pelicans flying overhead, making for the planet. Mitchell closed Higgins' eyes and jumped to his feet, waving high in the air to signal the attacking Pelican fleet. "Hey!" he yelled in desperation. "Stop! No!" One Pelican broke from the line, heading down towards the moon, straight for Mitchell. "Yeah!" he jumped, still waving, but the Pelican didn't lower its landing gear. It wasn't going to pick him up; it was the bomber. As it flew overhead, it released its payload.

* * *

Mitchell stared up at the sky, marvelling at its beauty. The stars were so bright from this moon, he couldn't deny that the view was better than Earth. He didn't remember the outpost exploding or how he ended up on his back in the snow. He didn't even feel his right arm being ripped off, but at least his senses were numbed. As he admired the stars, the Pelicans flew above him. He followed them with his eyes until they rested on Terminus. Already, the planet was riddled with dotted fires as wave after wave of drop ships converged on it like a blanket cover. Chaos was not a word that could describe the scene before him. Beautiful...but frightening. And with that in mind, Mitchell laid his head back and closed his eyes, waiting for sleep to overcome him.

* * *

**Thank you for reading Chapter One 'War Story'! I really enjoyed doing something different, yet something connected to RvBvG. Because of a new system of writing I'm doing, the admission of chapters will vary as I am switching between this and my other story; Joker.**

**I hope you have enjoyed reading this and I can't wait to see what happens next. Seriously, I haven't developed the whole storyline like I did with RvBvG. So Syn-Gen is almost completely off the bat. Thanks again and don't forget to PM/Review!  
**


	2. Injuries Run Deep

Red vs. Blue: The Syn-Gen Stratagem

Year One

Chapter Two: Injuries Run Deep

**Greetings once again readers! I'm glad you decided to give Chapter Two a glance, which must mean you thought that the first one was okay.**

**Injuries Run Deep gets a little more into the Syn-Gen storyline. Whereas the first set up the world, this one explores the innards of it. Plot-based with not as much action, IRD begins introducing the characters and their purpose. Enjoy and PM/Review.  
**

* * *

Five Months Later...

The pub was a disgusting sight and yet there were people inside. Not that you would call them 'people'. More like bags of carbon with a stone plopped in the top disguised as a brain. That's what he made of them. They probably saw his fine suit and clean shoes and assumed he was some kind of pencil pushing tight-arsed cream puff that never had a shag he'd hadn't paid for. Well, they would be wrong; he'd never pushed a pencil in his life. Far be it for him to lay judgement upon these lowlifes, but in all fairness, he was much better than them and they knew it. They knew it so well that none of them even bothered to come up to him and start an argument about why he had decided to walk through their front door. The barman sidled up to the unnatural element in the bar and asked as per usual; "What's your order?"

"I'm looking for a man." Said the unnatural element tersely.

"I'm afraid we don't cater to your kind here." Replied the barman. "Though I hear the hotel on the corner has a wide selection of-"

"Yes, well I'm only looking for one particular man because I wish to _**meet **_with him." Pressed on the suit, rolling his eyes. "An ex-Colonel. I understand he chooses to risk his evenings here."

"We get a lot of retired military blokes in here." Said the barman, pouring a drink for another customer. "None of them, I can think, would want to be caught dead with the likes of a skinny titmouse like yourself."

"What luck then. I only want to see them alive."

"Then you'll be the one who's caught dead, I hope-I mean, I suspect."

"Cut the crap." Sneered the suit, sitting up on the closest barstool. "The man I'm looking for has lost an arm. His right arm."

"Lost an arm, eh?" thought the barman, concentrating really hard.

"Yes, do think about it." Hissed the suit. "But don't strain yourself too much; who'd get these people drunk?" Finally, the barman shook his head.

"Nope. Don't know any armless people." He said. "All the blokes in here are legless though, why don't you try one of them?" The drunks chuckled in a low hum.

"Oh yes, what humour you have." Exaggerated the suit. "You must be proud having such talent and yet so sad having to waste it on the likes of them." This time, the barman raised himself to full height.

"Right, now-" he began but was interrupted by another voice.

"That's it, Morris. You've had your fun." Said the one-armed man by the door. He had apparently been there for some time and as he approached the bar, he waved to the others in the room to keep their cool. "Don't wanna have another lawsuit on your hands, do ya?"

"It's not like they'll notice, what with a war on and everything." Retorted Morris, the bartender. He poured the newcomer a drink before adding; "You'll be fine with him?" The man nodded. Morris left the suit and the soldier alone.

"Colonel Paxx." Began the suit. "Your reputation precedes you...as well as your injury."

"Listen, kid." Said Mitchell, downing a quarter of his pint. "If you wanna get on my good side, bringing up what I'm lacking isn't the way to go about it. And you can skip the formalities; I know you know that I'm retired so call me Mitchell."

"I've only seen what there is about you on paper and you are a footnote in medical sciences. The first person in decades to refuse a bionic limb. I don't know whether to be impressed or apathetic about your stubbornness."

"I don't know whether to be impressed by your tough talk or your inability to keep your fat mouth shut." Retorted Mitchell. "Either way kid, you've got balls."

"I guess I should thank you for noticing, Colonel."

"Already told you, I prefer you call me 'Mitchell'."

"But I prefer 'Colonel', Colonel." Sneered the suit. "You should call me Alexander, by the way."

"Oh, but I prefer to call you 'Arsehole'." Mocked Mitchell. "Or maybe 'Ben Dover'. No, wait! 'Holden McGroin'. I like it, has a ring to it."

"If I could move past this horseplay," hastened Alexander, "I have something of a business offer to recommend." Mitchell turned what little attention he had towards the man, his beer within peripheral vision at all times. He blinked to show Alexander that he was listening. "I work for a company that specialises in new medical treatments for people such as yourself and others in similar predicaments, handicaps, call it what you will. We are trialling a new form of advanced genetic reconstruction which we hope will eventually be available to the whole world. At the moment, the procedure is still in its development stages and we are-"

"-Are in need of a lab rat to eat the figurative cheese?" finished Mitchell.

"Precisely." Agreed Alexander. He beamed at Mitchell who took a sip of his pint. "Well?" he egged.

"You're holding something back. I can tell." Said Mitchell almost immediately. "What is it?" Alexander took a moment to formulate his answer, as if choosing his words carefully.

"The, uh...whole operations is...being oversighted by the...military."

"Goodbye." Said Mitchell instantly, finishing off his beer.

"Bu-"

"Goodbye." He insisted.

"Only the medical arm of the military." Explained Alexander, attempting to make everything sound better. "We understand that you have had some issues with the military in the past."

"Damn right I have." Said Mitchell now giving Alexander his complete attention. "No doubt you're high up enough to have seen the reports and I _**don't**_ mean the falsified ones. If you have, then you really do understand why I can't take part."

"I did study you. I know all about Terminus, The Battle of Nova Prime. Your contribution-"

"_**My**_ contribution was being the last alive at the end of that God forsaken skirmish. People live through every day of their lives, why should I be remembered for doing the same?"

"But your men didn't survive." Said Alexander. "Why should we remember them for not living?"

"Watch your step there." warned Mitchell who had half a mind to punch Alexander, which was a good half less than everyone else in the pub. "It's because of the military that people forget them, forget what they sacrificed. Some soldiers didn't even have the privilege of their remains returning home, even after a 'victory'."

"I realise that many of your grievances with them has been the loss of several soldier's corpses particularly of a..." Alexander whipped out a small notepad and flicked through the pages. "...Colonel Friday. You left him trapped under a collapsed section of The Covenant outpost," he read on, "still alive of course, and the clean-up team dispatched found no trace of him after the bombing. Completely incinerated in the blast." Alexander put his notepad away. "I hear this is what got you into Covenant Relations. How's that going, by the way?" Mitchell chuckled.

"It's kinda hard to hold a peace conference with an alien race that won't show up. It was a fool's dream."

"Why would you even try to make amends with those things? They've taken so much from us."

"I didn't lose my arm because of them." Stated Mitchell. "And I certainly didn't lose my men because of them." Mitchell finished off his pint and slammed it down to make his point.

"Your point is...flawed at best." Critiqued Alexander, rising from his stool unimpressed. "Personally, I believe you're in mid grief. You are blaming the military for all their wrongdoings when it's really your. Own. Damn. Fault." Mitchell immediately swung around on his stool, arm ready to strike Alexander in the face, but nothing happened. Amidst fury and embarrassment, Mitchell lowered his severed bicep which had failed to meet its target. Alexander blinked, unmoved by this pathetic attempt. "_**But**_ my own opinions don't matter in this case." He added. "You won't be working for me and it doesn't require we be friends. Either way, my offer still stands." Sensing his time here was at an end; Alexander flicked a card onto the counter and walked out the front door, the stares from the patrons digging a hole into his back.

"You want another?" asked Morris. Mitchell sighed.

"No. I think it's time I went home."

* * *

Being a man of action, Mitchell was not one to be easily startled when things weren't quite right. Being in a warzone for the better half of your life made these kinds of changes to you. Even picking his apartment had been through an assessment of tactical advantage; above the seventh floor, clear view of the street and subsequent alley, walls that carried noise and an escape route that wasn't crumbling away like many other things in this city. Being a man of action, it was obvious that Mitchell would not hesitate when noticing his front door ajar, shattered at the handle and lock. Immediately, his mind was already at work as to how he would incapacitate the intruders and do so without being noticed while attempting to acquire his service revolver which he kept stashed inside a potted plant by the living room. Opening his well-oiled door silently, Mitchell crept along the wall to the archway that led to the study. On the other side was the potted plant but inside the study, he could hear three people moving around in search of anything of value. "So I said to the girl," said one of the male robbers, "if you won't do that for fifty bucks, why'd you ask for cash upfront? And you know what she said?"

"No, but I suspect you'll tell us anyway." Mumbled another of the robbers.

"She said; 'I only wanted to see if you were dumb enough to hand it over.' And she runs off on me. Can you believe that?"

"I accepted that we need oxygen to breathe with more hesitation, Schmitty." Commented the other robber.

"Give him a break, Franklin." Said a female robber. "You know he only has a fifty-two I.Q."

"Which is more than I can say for you." Joked Franklin, overturning books in their shelves. "What are we looking for, anyway, Tam? We've been looking for almost an hour."

"He wanted a medal, so we're looking for a medal." Reminded Tam. "Now quit your bitching. I'm gonna go take a look in here." Mitchell heard her clunking footsteps approach the archway. With precision timing, he grabbed Tam around the mouth and pulled her out of sight. She began struggling, her screams muffled by Mitchell's hand, depriving her of oxygen. Her legs began flailing in the air, almost kicking over a hatstand. Mitchell moved her away from anything she might hit but keeping her still was becoming more difficult with her constant elbow blows to the stomach. Tam kept trying to kick something but Mitchell kept moving around until eventually standing in full sight of the study. Luckily for him, Franklin and Schmitty were too busy to notice their silent struggle.

"You heard of this new thing for cars?" asked Schmitty.

"No but I'm glad you were very specific about this 'new thing'." Answered Franklin. "What is it?"

"Headlight fluid." Said Schmitty. "I got some from a guy on the street. Selling 'em real cheap too. Fifty bucks a bottle, much more expensive overseas. I got five."

"Schmitty, do you know what a scam is?" asked Franklin.

"No."

"Thought not." Said Franklin who returned to his search. Mitchell was finally able at this point to pull Tam to the other side of the archway and next to the pot plant. At long last, she fell unconscious and Mitchell carefully laid her on the floor out of sight.

"I hope you like the place," Mitchell said after sneaking up behind the two men, holding them at gunpoint, "'cos the next one you'll see is a lot smaller and has a lot less furniture. Fortunately, it'll last you the rest of your life."

"Please, we'll leave you alone." Pleaded Franklin quietly. "What do ya want from us?"

"I could ask the same of you. Who wants my Medal of Honour?" Mitchell dug his nuzzle deep into Schmitty's back. "Speak!"

"I don't know anything about him." Gibbered Franklin. "He calls himself Kurtz. That's all he ever told us. Don't kill us."

"I never said I would kill you." Mitchell pulled the revolver from Schmitty's back and knocked Franklin out with the butt of the gun. Schmitty quickly grabbed Mitchell by the hand and forced him to unload every last bullet in the chamber into the ceiling of his apartment. Mitchell dropped his gun and noticed Schmitty reaching for his own. Mitchell tried to grab it, but Schmitty's other hand held him back as he pulled out a pistol. Just able to reach the gun, Mitchell quickly released the magazine cartridge before Schmitty could pull the trigger.

"What the hell's going on down there?" shouted the upstairs neighbour.

"Just go back to sleep, Mr. Wagidoobikowski!" yelled back Mitchell, still struggling with the intruder. Suddenly, he found himself caught in a choke hold, his one good arm still clinging to the gun Schmitty was holding. The air was draining and he was running out of time. Already, the lights started to dim and he knew that if he passed out, this would be the end. Slowly, he bent his knees, forcing them both lower. He pulled his head back, knocking it into Schmitty's eyes. Then with all his strength, Mitchell jumped back on top of Schmitty, sending them both falling down and crashing through a wooden table. Feeling his grip loosen, Mitchell elbowed Schmitty in the face and picked up the gun. He placed the magazine on the table right side up and slammed the gun down on top, reloading it and spun around to see the fourth intruder. They faced off each other; the masked man with his double barrel shotgun and Mitchell with his pistol. In the man's jacket pocket was a square bulge, the exact size and shape of a medallion case.

"You're Kurtz?" asked Mitchell to which there was no reply. "Why are you doing this?"

"Taking back what is rightfully mine." Spitefully replied Kurtz. He held up the shotgun straight at Mitchell who had enough sense to jump out of the way before Kurtz blew the window out behind him. "Don't follow me." He warned simply before running out through the window and making his way down the fire escape.

"I wouldn't dream of it." Said Mitchell. He got up off the floor and ran out the apartment, straight for the elevator. He knew it would take longer for Kurtz to reach the ground than it would the elevator and the alley was a dead end around the back, so he would have to come out front. He waited patiently as the elevator rode down the shaft along with the three other occupants of the lift, all of whom were staring at the pistol clutched comfortably in Mitchell's hand. "Trunk won't open on my car." He explained quickly.

"Don't you have a crowbar?" asked one of the ladies.

"Where do you think it is?" he retorted before the elevator doors opened and he charged through the lobby and outside. Immediately to his right, he spotted the masked man running from the alley and he spotted Mitchell. Mitchell pursued him down the street, pushing aside businessmen and women in his way. "Stop!" he shouted. Kurtz did stop, only to turn around and take aim at Mitchell who ducked behind a mailbox. The bullets sprayed its side but didn't pass through. "Can't believe they still have these things." Commented Mitchell about the mailbox before continuing after Kurtz.

"Shit!" cursed the masked man as he tried to reload the shotgun while in a run. Mitchell had had enough of this. With swift aim, he shot Kurtz in the back of the knee. He fell down, slamming into the pavement and sending his shotgun sliding into the middle of the street where it was promptly crushed by a truck. Before he knew it, Mitchell had flipped him onto his back and reached inside his jacket pocket, pulling out his Medal of Honour. Without saying a word, Mitchell proceeded to remove the mask around Kurtz's head but was startled with what he saw. The resemblance was uncanny, with a few obvious differences; the hair was a different colour and style, he had a smaller nose and a paler complexion but he was definitely the brother of Private Kurtz. With a sigh, he knelt down closer to the man and whispered; "I knew your brother. He was a good soldier; saved a lot of lives including mine. His heart was in the right place and I am sure he was at peace when his time came." Mitchell took out the Medal of Honour and slipped it into Kurtz's pocket. "He deserved more than a Purple Heart. God knows they all do. Don't you be thinking I made this happen." He fixed Kurtz with a stare. "Don't you _**ever **_think I agree with the way things are. You limp on home now."

* * *

It had taken all his courage, all of his patience and all of his stubbornness to call Alexander up on his offer. The man made Mitchell's skin bleed and the hairs on his back stand tall, but his cause was the only thing that could remove the guilt hanging over him like a shadow. If he couldn't help the dead, then the living were top priority. He'd been greeted by a representative of the medical branch Alexander worked for at the spaceport and was told to sign a non-disclosure agreement in the traditional welcoming manner. "Our facility holds many experimental creations that other companies are not in possession of. We're just safeguarding our security as well as yours." Explained the (now obvious) lawyer lightly. Mitchell signed over his name, joking that this was the part of the movie where the guy was expected to wear a black bag over his head before entering the secret lair. "Not exactly." Said the lawyer who held up a slumber mask. The space flight to the facility had been comfortable except for the obvious lack of vision. Mitchell had even felt around for a window, but there appeared to be none fitted. Despite this, he relaxed and fell asleep in his chair before being woken up. "We've arrived." Informed the lawyer. Mitchell removed his mask and stretched his arm and legs. "We had quite a bit of turbulence on the way down. Didn't you feel it?"

"You get used to things in the military." Explained Mitchell, walking ahead of the lawyer. "Turbulence, rations...death." They entered the facility through a large, thick and very well armoured hatch, the lawyer providing his hand print and retina to unlock it. Inside stood Alexander, an attempt at a warm smile stuck on his face. The lawyer waited behind and closed the door, leaving the two acquaintances to continue on.

"I'm glad you finally decided to change your mind." Said Alexander, walking along with Mitchell. "I guess we can cut the informalities since we're going to be working professionally from now on. My full name is Alexander Tuvix."

"You're the son of Jackson Tuvix." Mildly realised Mitchell. "I saw the resemblance. Is his company affiliated with this place?"

"No. Unfortunately, my father's company only tailors to household appliances and family entertainment." Alexander pressed the down button on an elevator.

"And military armaments?" queried Mitchell. Alexander gave him a subtle look.

"Something like that." They entered the lift. "Father made me into the man I am today; insisted I take up engineering, programming and a dozen other subjects on the matter. Have you had any experience?"

"I went to public school where I flunked in trigonometry. The most I ever did with a computer is use it to search porn and my idea of technical assistance and repair is to hit the damn thing with a screwdriver." Answered Mitchell typically. "I'm a soldier. Soldiering is what I do best."

"How beguiling." Remarked Alexander as the lift doors opened. They stepped out into a long corridor with windows at intervals that revealed rooms on either side where dozens of men and women were working, building, engineering, creating many unfinished machines. "This is Syn-Gen. You are currently on our research and construction floor. Engineers design their inventions here to help doctors and medics better treat their patients. The technology we will be working with however will be much more minute compared to these creations you see before you." It was then that something caught Mitchell's eye. Or rather someone. She was wearing a different uniform to the others and her hair was short. He noticed her standing by an upright table as she instructed some of the other engineers. Mitchell leant back to see as much as he could of her through the window before he had to move on. At the end of his stare however, he noticed the armour attached to the upright table with the engineers picking at pieces of it.

"Is that the experimental armour they're using at Reach?" he asked Alexander as they moved on to the far door.

"Similar design, yes." He answered as he opened the door. "We're making a few special modifications. Not entirely sure what the specifics are." Alexander thought as they walked through a net of smaller corridors. "I think they said something about an armour lockdown mode they're trying to install. Not in my specific field. Here we are." They entered a cubic room with rounded edges with what looked like a dentist chair in the centre. "Colonel Paxx, allow me to introduce Doctor Lilia Anders. She'll be overseeing your progress through the trials." The woman who had been seated on a stool rose and shook Mitchell's hand, or at least would have if he still had his right arm.

"Hello. I-" It was then that she noticed. "I'm sorry."

"Not to worry, happens all the time." Said Mitchell. Lilia swapped hands and completed the shake. She wasn't the tallest woman. He hair was jet black and skin a light brown. She was however quite young for her status.

"I've heard a lot about you. At first I was afraid that your drinking would be an issue, but that won't be the case." She said with a smile more genuine than Alexander's.

"The usual doctor's greeting." Commented Alexander. "You forgot to tell him he has cancer." He teased.

"Why don't you lie down on here and we can begin." Lilia ignored Alexander and motioned to the chair. Mitchell took off his jacket and began rolling up his sleeve with Alexander's eventual help.

"So what's this medical procedure I'm about to partake in?" he asked. "You just gonna pump we with drugs or...?"

"Nothing so mundane." Lilia explained. "Syn-Gen has been experimenting for a while the use of Nano technology for medical treatment. They're these tiny robots that can, by proper programming, repair damaged tissue and assist the healing process. All we're doing is injecting a small batch into your system so they can assimilate your genetic structure and make repairs to your body. Who knows; by the end of it, you may even have some of your arm back."

"That'll sure make taking off trousers easy." Joked Mitchell. "And taking off other things." He added cheekily as he lied back on the chair.

"I'm just going to give you a sedative. The process may be painful and we don't want you to feel any discomfort." Said Lilia. Mitchell nodded and looked straight up and away from the needle the doctor was holding. The effects weren't immediate, but they were strange. Mitchell lost all feelings in his legs and that dead feeling was spreading up to his waist. He'd had sedatives before and none of them felt like this. Mitchell felt constricted around the chest. He started having a little difficulty breathing but didn't feel tired. In fact, he was wide awake and alert. "Now, by now you probably realise that wasn't a sedative." Admitted Lilia. "That was a paralysing agent. You need to be awake for the injection. For the Nano-Cells to take effect, they'll have to be injected through the ear so they can enter the brain. I'm sorry." Mitchell's eyes widened with horror and with great difficulty. He watched as Lilia controlled a mechanical arm by his head and began to attach an injector filled with what Mitchell could only assume were the tiny robots. By this point, he had changed his mind. Without knowing if he could do it, Mitchell grabbed Lilia's arm that was attaching the needle and held it back as firmly as possible. "Get him off me!" she yelled to Alexander who rushed to her aid.

"His fingers are too tight!" he said.

"The paralysing agent is-argh! It's tightened his muscles. Pry him off as hard as you can!" she screamed. Mitchell had lost all feeling; the only reason he still had hold of the doctor was because he was paralysed in that position. Eventually, Alexander managed to pull away Mitchell's hand and place it back on the chair where he promptly restrained them.

"I thought you said we wouldn't need these." He said.

"The paralysis should have kicked in sooner." Explained Lilia, attaching the needle to the mechanical arm. "The injector is set. Stand back." Suddenly and swiftly, the needle plunged through Mitchell's eardrum. Painfully, it injected its contents and pulled itself out. He could feel it all happening; the agony was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. The worst part; he couldn't convey any of it. Damnation without relief. As it all built to the climax, Mitchell's head started to spin and everything began to blur. The last thing he saw before everything faded to black were the faces of Alexander and Doctor Anders staring down at him. "He's got a lot of stre_ngth in him for a gu__**y with one arm...**_"

* * *

There was no world where he could see and feel. He wasn't even sure he was anywhere in particular. As far as he could tell, this was some kind of nowhere land. All of his memories were warped and twisted in his mind, yet he was somehow able to make sense of it all. As he searched through them all, he noticed a small speck in the distance. It felt like an intrusion, but he couldn't be sure of the meaning of it. "Hello?" he said from a lipless mouth. "Hello!" he called, his voice echoing at different pitches, sometimes even whispering back to him. The speck was drawing nearer, he assumed, walking towards him across the non-existent floor. When it came close enough for him to see clearly, he discovered its legs were not moving. The man was wearing his clothes and had his features, but his face was empty. It was just a smooth sheet of skin with no features. "Who are you?" he asked.

"I am me." Replied the other.

"What is your name?"

"I am me." Replied the other a second time.

"Who is me?"

"I am me." The other was only a few feet away by now. Taking a step away was impossible; there were no feet to step away with. With only a pace between them, the other stopped and stared without eyes at his counterpart. Slowly, the other's face twisted and bubbled, taking shape and before long was a mirror image of Mitchell. "I am you." It said and became one with him.

* * *

Mitchell woke up, screaming and sweating. He was still in the room, still restrained but all alone. "Hey!" he called. No answer. "Hey!" he howled, hoping someone could hear. "Get me out of this thing! I want out! Somebody!" The door was opened and a familiar face walked in that he had only just seen moments ago.

"How are you?" asked Doctor Anders, touching Mitchell's shoulder. "Do you feel fine?"

"Unlock me." Said Mitchell.

"I can't do that until you tell me how you are feeling." Lilia said sternly.

"I feel wet!" stated Mitchell loudly. "Let. Me. Out."

"Only if you promise not to attack me or try to escape." This proposal was met with a grunt from Mitchell. "There are reasons why we lied to you and I promise I will explain in time. Promise?" Mitchell considered and then agreed. "Okay then." Lilia undid the restraints slowly, glancing up at him for any sign of resistance. When she was done, she stood well back. "There. Take your time before standing up; you might feel some dizziness." Mitchell sat up and felt the dizziness immediately.

"Might?" he asked matter-of-fact-ly.

"We've never done anything like this before." Explained Lilia. "We didn't know what to expect." Mitchell shook his head, trying to bring his mind back into focus. He rubbed his face and felt the warmth of his hands against his cheeks. His eyes opened suddenly and he stared down at his arms, hands and all ten fingers. They were identical. The right arm did feel smoother and appeared to be a tad more pale than the other. Despite that, it looked exactly the same as it did the last time it had been part of his body.

"How?" he asked, at a loss for words.

"The Nano-Cells." Lilia said, stepping forward. "They are meant to make changes to certain parts of the brain to make the body adapt to certain conditions. We figured advanced healing would take place but...nothing of this scale." Mitchell marvelled at his new limb, beaming yet concerned.

"This isn't an entirely medical concept, is it?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"No." said a strong male voice from the door. A man had entered without them noticing, his face obscured in darkness. "It's not."

"Who are you?" Mitchell pushed himself off the chair with the help of Lilia.

"I am The Administrator. I know all about you; Mitchell Paxx. I know that you are a man who can be easily trusted if your intentions are pure and allow me to ensure you, they most certainly are."

"Syn-Gen is more than a medical lab." Asserted Mitchell. "What do you do here?"

"I'll show you."

* * *

**Thanks for reading Chapter Two 'Injuries Run Deep'. I know the first chapter was a little confusing, what with all the brand new characters thrown in all at once, so I hope this one was a little easier.**

**Chapter Three, whenever it comes out, will tie this story into the Red vs. Blue plot and I hope I don't contradict what RoosterTeeth are doing in Season 10 at all. Once again, thanks for reading and don't forget to PM/Review!  
**


	3. Lies And Introductions

Red vs. Blue: The Syn-Gen Stratagem

Year One

Chapter Three: Lies and Introductions

**Salutations readers! I am glad you have made it to Chapter Three! So far there hasn't been much to link this story to Red vs. Blue specifically apart from the title. In this story, the links are made and a recognisable character makes an appearance. Who is it? You'll find out!**

* * *

After all this, everything he had been through, all the promises he had made to himself, Mitchell had returned to the position of military puppet. He had to admit that he wasn't entirely disappointed; a part of him had been yearning for the good old days. There was a type of comfort he felt knowing that he was truly alive being so close to death, but this was different. Something inside his head was telling him to stay, to trust these people despite the reasons he had not to.

"You are now participating in a very special experiment to genetically enhance the human body synthetically." Explained the now obvious hologram. Every few seconds, the image flickered and distorted which caused the audio to cut out. As Mitchell followed it down the hallway, he noticed that it never took a step and was hovering barely an inch off the ground.

"Aren't those two completely different fields?" he asked.

"Until now, yes. Synthetic Genetics fuses the use of Nano technology with regular body functions. Even as we speak, they are making changes to your genetic structure which will improve your abilities more than any bionic implant ever could." The Administrator continued. "They are designed to make key hormonal changes in the body to strengthen you and are constantly searching for methods to further advance your physical shortcomings."

"Hey." Warned Mitchell. "Let's not go generalising 'shortcomings'. That medical lab was very cold."

"That was not what I was referring to...but I guess it will have a similar effect on that portion of the body."

"Do the little things work overtime?"

"Let's move on." Urged The Administrator. They entered a lift which immediately took them straight down. The odd thing was; there was only one other floor marked on the walls.

"You facility isn't as big as you claim it to be, I see." Smirked Mitchell.

"Bigger than yours." Commented The Administrator. Mitchell hung his head in shame.

"Opened _**that**_ one up for ya, didn't I?" Suddenly, the concrete shaft disappeared and revealed a wide open room. It was so massive that Mitchell had to lean against the glass just to see the far end. As he looked around it became apparent that this was a training room; the gym section, the live fire area, ammunition storage and so on. The elevator came to a halt on the training floor and Mitchell hopped out, followed by the image of The Administrator.

"Well, well." Smiled the man waiting there to greet them. "Mitchell Paxx, never thought I'd see your ugly mug again."

"Ben?" Mitchell squinted through the light at his former army buddy.

"In the flesh." Ben walked closer, standing before Mitchell almost like an exhibit. "That transfer out of the Nova Prime campaign did me a world of good. It's good to see you in one piece." He extended a hand which Mitchell hesitantly shook. Very hesitantly.

"Ditto." Commented Mitchell.

"Sergeant Christianson will be training you back to peak efficiency." Informed The Administrator. Ben could tell that Mitchell wasn't too pleased. "He'll show you how to fight, how to run and how to survive."

"Looks like the student became the master, hey Colonel?" joked Ben. He was met with a swift punch to the face from Mitchell who had pre-meditated this rightly with his new fresh hand. He jumped on top of Ben and wailed on him, landing blow after blow to his superior.

"You left us behind!" Mitchell shouted in anger. "You knew what we were getting in to and you didn't tell us!" Ben was starting to get bloodied. He tussled with Mitchell, blocking every punch but unable to regain his stance.

"Good." Said The Administrator, admiring the brute strength Mitchell was already showing. From across the room, two guards appeared through a door and pulled Mitchel back, albeit with great difficulty.

"What the hell are you doing?" Ben barked, wiping the blood from his lip. "I'm your fucking friend! We served together!"

"You went over our heads!" argued Mitchell. "You knew Nova Prime wasn't an offensive outpost! You knew it was only there to protect Covenant civilians! That's why you left!"

"There was nothing I could have done!"

"You could have told us!" Mitchell forced the guards' grip and pulled himself away, no longer attacking Ben. "If you had, we would never have gone down there. As far as I'm concerned, _**you**_ are responsible for the deaths of everyone I knew. My friends..._**Your**_ friends." And with that, Mitchell turned his back on Ben and returned to the lift. There was no way he could explain the anger coursing through him towards that man.

"How the hell was I supposed to know _**that**_ was gonna happen?" questioned Ben after noticing the smirk on The Administrator's face. "We used to be mates."

"Evidently that is no longer the case." Assessed The Administrator.

"What gave you that idea?"

"This is no time for sarcasm. All I need to know is; can you keep him here?" asked The Administrator. Ben really didn't know.

"Not unless you can find some incentive. A reason or a bargain." Ben held back his nose as blood continued to flow freely down his face. "This man can hold a grudge...and pack a punch-Didn't he just lose this arm?"

"Impressive, isn't it?" admired The Administrator. "I should send the results down to you."

"Don't bother; they're all over my face." Ben noticed that the smirk had stretched into a smile. He didn't like that. "What?"

"Would he stay to end a personal vendetta?" queried The Administrator. Ben rolled his eyes. He knew that Mitchell most definitely would stay just to beat the tar out of him. "We've found our incentive." The hologram vanished, off to find the Colonel now freely wandering around. Ben dismissed the guards and looked around the training facility.

"I should've died back on Nova Prime." He said, hoping deep down that he was joking.

* * *

The food tasted like crap. The walls were cold steel and unemotional in their angles. Everything about this place felt like a prison and he supposed that this is where he would be spending the rest of his life. He'd found the Mess easy enough. One thing about a human base; they always had signs pointing you in the right direction. If you were trying to break into one, it wouldn't be too difficult finding your way around. The thoughts just kept pounding around his head but one was the loudest. It posed whether or not he could make it. Could he? Would it be worse than his life on the outside where he was alone and unable to accomplish anything? Was he doing this to honour the lives of the people he lost? Living here amongst people he hates. Speak of the devil: "How's it going, Sykes?" cryptically asked Alexander, sitting down beside Mitchell.

"Who?"

"Sykes." Established Alexander once more, expecting Mitchell to figure out the answer with the same clue. "The one-armed guy from The Fugitive. Don't you watch TV?"

"Do I look like a couch potato?" retorted Mitchell, expressing his dislike for his eating buddy.

"Has the old man told you all the details?"

"No." said Mitchell simply. "We had an interruption caused by Christianson's face when it got in the way of my fist." Alexander whistled.

"Had a feeling you might. Hey, no hard feelings about the..." he mimed a needle injection through the ear.

"No." Mitchell answered. Somewhere far away in the universe, a person was killed in an explosion as his sarcasm metre went to overload. Mitchell pushed back his tray roughly and turned to Alexander. "You people have a lot of nerve. Abducting me, threatening me, injecting things into my head? You think I should be trusting you right now after all this? Now that I find out that the one man I despise most is here, I'm supposed to just fall in line and play along like a good little soldier?"

"Why not?" questioned Alexander. "You've been doing it all your life."

"When we first met I immediately discovered over a thousand ways that I could kill you and that was with only one hand. Count them before you insult me." Warned Mitchell, but Alexander wasn't backing down.

"I want to know why you didn't stand up to the military like you're doing with us." He egged.

"Stop."

"Was it because you liked the orders or because the orders appealed to you?" BANG!

"Shut up!" Mitchell had risen to his feet and Alexander had moved away from the table, still seated in his chair. He stared at the arm that had severely dented the table and had gone through the food tray to do it. Mitchell didn't care that what he had done was physically impossible; he was so mad. He just glared at the tiny figure in his seat.

"Well..." began Alexander, slowly rising from his chair. "I guess I touched a nerve there, or was it the truth?"

"Tuvix!" announced The Administrator, his image hovering in the middle of the room. "Why don't you get back to your station." He ordered. With an irritable huff, Alexander rose from his seat, straightened his suit and walked away. "When we make first impressions around here, we do not try to leave one in the other person's face."

"Are you more successful than I am, then?" asked Mitchell. The Administrator thought about answering, but couldn't find an answer that proved Mitchell wrong.

Instead, he said: "_**We**_ deal with potentially hostile alien races. _**You**_ dealt with a human being on the same side as the rest of us. A strong ally and you fight with him? Not a very smart move."

"I'm sorry. I should have had more control over myself, must be the operation; I've not been feeling myself." He looked up at The Administrator. "It won't happen again."

"Actually, it probably will." Mitchell's brow furrowed in curiosity. "As your physical trainer, it's natural that you two will be involved in hand-to-hand simulated combat." He leaned in for the last comment. "Just because I don't approve doesn't mean I didn't like what I saw." Moving on through the tour, Mitchell's next stop was the medical side of the operation. "I didn't exactly get to explain everything." Continued The Administrator as they walked down a pearly white corridor. "No doubt you have heard of the secret military project going on at Reach. We know that you were called in to participate in their research but refused; felt that the war would be won by soldiers, not supermen. Truth is, Reach has a number of different projects going on all at the same time to create the perfect soldier to fight against The Covenant. The Syn-Gen Stratagem is just one in a dozen separate solutions being tested. You've got your Project Ironhand creating the perfect robotic soldiers, the Spartan II Project is creating bio-engineered soldiers with synthetic implants-The Jupiter Elucidation was going fine for a while...until its candidates were killed in that horrible explosion that destroyed their research facility."

"What happened?" asked Mitchell.

"The candidates exploded." The Administrator replied simply. "The chemicals they were using were just too unstable and the mess cost a bundle. It's still being considered however as a last resort for suicide attacks. These and other projects are dealing with the body to fight but only a small portion of us are actually dealing with both body and mind. We can't just ask some slack-jawed genetically or robotically enhanced biped to charge at the enemy with a gun and without a clue. You need intelligence to fight and that's where you come in." The Administrator stopped and turned to face Mitchell. "We've been watching you for some time and we've been impressed with your tactics. You stand by your morals and ethics and we applaud you for it. We need more men and women like you running the military; it could have helped in the past when some of history's greatest mistakes in conflict were made." They continued on. "The Syn-Gen Stratagem is about enhancing your abilities; all of them and not just focusing on muscle."

"How many others are trying to accomplish what you are?" asked Mitchell.

"Two. Project Freelancer is improving their soldiers with advanced Artificial Intelligence programs created from a single human mind built into their suits that share a symbiotic relationship with the user. They're our main competition. The other is our own sister project; The Cortana Initiative. They're also dealing with advanced A.I. but built completely from design in a computer laboratory. They're moving so slow that none of us think anything will come from it." The door in front of them opened and inside was Doctor Lilia Anders sitting at her desk reading a magazine with her boots propped up on the corner of the table. "Our staff doctor, you've already met."

"Sorry!" Lilia bustled about, tidying up the office. "I didn't realise we were entertaining today." When finished, she went to shake Mitchell's left hand before remembering he'd grown the other one back. "Sorry, sometimes I just have slips of the mind."

"Don't worry. With that in mind, I can't tell you how confident I will be under your knife." They chuckled slightly at the 'pun'. "You're quite young to be a doctor, aren't you?"

"They pulled me in young." Lilia said. "I'll be nineteen next spring."

"Wha-"

"A story for another day, I think." Hurried along The Administrator before Mitchell could question Lilia further and, most likely, get even more frightened than he already was. "We've got a lot to get through." Insisted The Administrator as he and Mitchell exited the room.

"Come find me if you have any more ques-" was as much Lilia was able to say before the door closed.

"How many more places do we have to visit?" asked a confused Mitchell.

"Only two, really. At least the next one will be quite quick."

"Why?"

"You've already met the next one."

"Oh." And sure enough to his disappointment, entering the next room they saw Alexander engulfed in a circle of computer terminals. He barely even acknowledged they had arrived short of glancing in their general direction. They didn't even stop to begin a chat, just kept walking.

"Alexander Tuvix creates the programs and various command structures of our artificial technology software." Explained The Administrator.

"I flunked 'nerd'. What does that mean?"

"Only that; one: I am smarter than you," began Alexander, walking around his console to another, " and two: I make sure our technology knows what and how to do things. Put simply; I told those things in your head to make you a better person. Originally I designed them to destroy worthless brain matter, but apparently, the military thinks you'll work better if there is something left." Mitchell raised his middle finger.

"All right, Tuvix!" growled The Administrator. "You've both had your fun now save it."

"Oh sure, flip me the bird." Ignored Alexander. "I'm glad to see all that army training really paid off!"

"Enough!" The Administrator's eyes almost glowed with anger at Alexander, but the message was clear. When Alexander had taken his seat, the hologram followed Mitchell through the far door.

As soon as the door closed, Alexander scoffed; "Tool." and returned to his work.

* * *

There it was just as he had seen it. The armour clamped to the table. Mitchell stuck his head up close to inspect the individual pieces and awe at their presence. "I see you've spotted the MJOLNIR combat body armour." Mused The Administrator. "She's a beauty."

"How did you-"

"Reach shipped it over to us." Promptly answered The Administrator. "Sent one to every project running just to see what little pieces we can add to it, kinda like an extracurricular activity. They'll incorporate the best modifications into the final design." Mitchell was aghast.

"Ever since I turned down that offer from Reach, I always regretted not being able to see this. Then when I walked into your base yesterday, I couldn't believe that it was sitting right there for me."

"Yesterday?" thought The Administrator. "No Colonel, you've been here for over a fortnight."

"What?"

"It's been sixteen days since the operation began." Clarified the most soothing voice Mitchell had ever heard. He wheeled around to see where it was issuing and saw to his pleasure, the woman he had spied through the glass when he first arrived. "Impressive; our experts estimated it would take over twenty before the changes would be complete."

"Colonel Paxx, she is-"

"Perfectly capable of introducing herself." She interrupted, holding out a hand for Mitchell to shake. "I'm Natalie Prescott. Basically I run the engineering side of everything; create the hardware, repair the damages and foot the bill." Mitchell had to make sure he hadn't gone slack-jawed which, thankfully, he hadn't. She had that brown hair that was one shade away from red, her face was kind and dotted with only a few tiny freckles on the cheeks. It was all he could do to stop himself look down at the grey tank top she was wearing with the top of her orange overalls tied about her waist. This was by far the toughest battle he had ever fought.

"Pleased to meet you." He managed to struggle out as he shook her hand, almost certain that he was turning red himself. He could tell from the way Natalie tried to hide her smile of laughter while watching Mitchell's struggled expression. "So-Uh, what kinds of modifications have you made?" he said, shaking off his wave of idiotic staring.

"We've done a bit more than others would. For example the strength based strategies being evaluated are only focusing on armouring their soldiers. They think 'why bother giving it millions of dollars' worth of weaponry when we can have it destroy the enemy at half the cost. We've gone in the opposite direction." She explained, motioning around the armour with her pen. "We've upgraded the suit, made it more reinforced as well as manoeuvrable. Our suit has been equipped with an over shield which can pack enough punch to save your life. The arms and back have been specially designed to be more aerodynamic when in flight and weapons ports in the forearms-"

"Wait, I'm sorry. Did you say 'in flight'?" queried Mitchell. "This thing can fly?"

"Eventually, yes." Said The Administrator.

"Reach wouldn't approve that mod; it would be too expensive for one-per-soldier." Reasoned Mitchell.

"We're not making them for Reach, Mitchell. We're making one for you. By the time training is complete, Earth won't need an army. _**You will be**_ the army." Mitchell paused for a moment, suddenly realising that at the end of all this, eventually he would be alone in the fight. They were expecting him to be the equivalent of a hundred thousand men and very soon, they would force him to demonstrate it.

"Assuming that nothing goes wrong during training," he began, sounding a little worried, "and that we go ahead with this kamikaze run, should I not live up to conceived standards _**how**_ exactly do I come back from a battle dead?" He left the floor open for anyone to jump in with an answer. At least, he hoped one of them had an answer.

Thankfully, Lilia did; "That's what the armour lock mode upgrade takes care of."

"Armour lock? Yeah, Alexander 'The Great' mentioned that but he didn't tell me what it was."

"Typical of him." Spat Lilia. "He programs the damn thing, makes sure it works and then can't be bothered remembering what it does."

"Easy, Prescott." Warned The Administrator lightly.

"Armour lock detects when the person is dying or damaged and locks down the armour in a stasis field to keep them alive. In the meantime, it transmits a homing beacon and lets us know where you are so we can render medical assistance."

"So instead of dying slowly and horribly, I die extremely slowly and even more horribly?" evaluated Mitchell.

"Something like that." Smiled Lilia.

"I think I'll leave you now." Said The Administrator who was more than aware of the situation before him. "I've got an important meeting to attend. He's in your capable hands, Prescott." And with that said, the hologram disappeared leaving Mitchell and Lilia in awkward silence. They chuckled, then stopped, looked about the room, at their feet, at each other and then immediately looked away.

"Are you-" they both said at the same time. "You first." Said Mitchell quickly.

"Are you fitting in here all right?" asked Lilia, fidgeting with her overalls.

"Fine, yeah, alright." Nodded Mitchell.

"I didn't think they'd find somebody so quickly." Said Lilia. She noticed Mitchell was confused by her statement. "Well, somebody _**willing**_ so quickly. No doubt you had reservations when they told you about the injection procedure; through the ear, into the brain and all."

"They didn't tell me about it."

"What?" exclaimed Lilia, shocked. "How...?"

"They sprung it on me in the last second." Lilia's shock grew with every passing word. "I guess they couldn't find somebody willing."

"I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"I practically built the damn things. I didn't know that this was how they would go about this at all." Lilia pushed her hair back in frustration.

"Hey, don't be." Mitchell put his hand on her shoulder. "You didn't know, you didn't plan it. It's not your fault." She looked up into his eyes and he looked down into hers. For a moment, nothing moved. It was just the two of them. They swayed backward and forward only so very slightly as they forgot and remembered to balance themselves.

"Do you know the way to your quarters?" asked Lilia.

* * *

"Thank you both for coming." Said The Chairman, sitting in his large black leather chair before the arched window with a view into space. "As you are well aware, we are in a time of chaos; the Earth at war with The Covenant and more than a dozen separate commissioned operations being tested simultaneously to combat this alien threat. At the end of it all is me. Being The Chairman of the Oversight Committee, it is my duty to select three of the operations I see can provide the most beneficial service towards defeating The Covenant and afterwards, the one. As of now, Project Freelancer and Syn-Gen are the top two prime candidates to move on to the next level. Two of our most prized groups so similar in design yet separate in origin."

"I fail to see, Chairman, how Syn-Gen is even capable of making the so-called 'shortlist' of beneficial projects considering it hasn't even begun its primary testing stage." Asserted one of the two men standing before The Chairman's desk. He wore a dark one piece suit and black glasses and spoke with a distinct yet upper class southern accent.

"Your opinions are of no concern to me, Director." Rebutted The Chairman. "Your observations of Syn-Gen are from afar. I myself have seen The Administrator's facilities and they are far from inadequate."

"It does not surprise me." Smirked The Director. "I never did question The Administrator's facilities. The state of the art technology he possesses was obviously reflected in his status in society."

"Anonymity will be respected here!" ordered The Chairman. "You identity as well as The Administrator's and mine are not to be used to settle some petty feud." The Chairman returned to address both men. "Despite this however, I must agree with The Director. Project Freelancer has been in operation for nearly a year and is showing promising signs. Administrator, do you have any comments on this matter?" The shining hologram hovered forward slightly.

"I myself would not judge the success of a project solely on how long one has been running before the other." He said.

"Of course not." Muttered The Director.

"I am sure that The Director's Project Freelancer is every bit as dedicated as the rest, even more so." Pushed on The Administrator. "But we must watch closely the means that these operations use to achieve their ends. Syn-Gen is loyal to Earth and its people. Our only driving force is the safety of society and our way of life. I myself cannot speak for The Director in these matters, but preparation is everything. In my experience, rushing into a solution often arises more problems..." he turned to The Director. "...and I would hate to see anything bad happen to our brightest and best because of their impatience."

"Our 'impatience' as you call it," seethed The Director, "is no more than our awareness of how little time there may be before The Covenant attack. By my estimates, it seems more likely that Earth will be annihilated and our galaxy conquered before The Administrator will even begin preliminary testing."

"You are rushing through uncharted scientific territory because of your paranoia! I wouldn't be surprised if you will exceed your authority in your maddened pursuit!"

"Breaking boundaries is what humans are good at, Administrator! Why deny what humanity has been doing for thousands of years when the end of it all is in sight?"

"Gentlemen!" ushered The Chairman. "Bickering amongst ourselves is pointless. While we fight with each other in here, hundreds of men and women lose their lives out there in the real world. If you must clash, do it when we are not discussing the future of Earth's survival!" The Administrator took a moment to calm himself down. "Now, I have faith in both of you and your operations. Reach has its eye on both of you. They've even decided to incorporate some of your upgrades to the MJOLNIR combat armour into their own design. Administrator; unless you have made some progress within the next few months, I cannot promise your name will be in the shortlist."

"Then you shall be pleased when I inform you that we have our candidate." Announced The Administrator. Both The Chairman and The Director turned to face him.

"Really?" asked The Director in an unimpressed tone. "And who might this poor unwitting fool be?"

"Colonel Mitchell Paxx; sole survivor of the campaign at Nova Prime."

"Not the military's brightest hour." Commented The Director.

"He stood against orders for the greater good, a trait many other overseers would overlook." He challenged subtly.

"Gentlemen, I appreciate your time, but I must be returning to my work." Said The Director, walking towards the door. "I do not see why I should remove myself from developing our only way to survive to hear the desperate promises of a desperate man without a hope of success." The door slammed shut behind him. The Administrator scowled after him, wishing that something somewhere would happen to that man.

"Bitter old man." Spat The Administrator. "You'd think his soul died when Allison did." The hologram advanced towards the desk. "You must be able to do something."

"I have no evidence of any wrongdoing." Said The Chairman.

"Of course you do! Just do an investigation, it's not that difficult to find out. Look at his subject numbers; he has four human subjects but only one approved A.I. What's he doing? Sharing one between each of them? No! It's too slow for him."

"You're spinning theories based on no evidence."

"I don't need evidence! I know him! I know that man!" shouted The Administrator. "Leonard Church is the most untrustworthy, tormenting being and the fact that he has power reflects how much more dangerous he can be! It's like giving a small fire a tank of gasoline!"

"I know!" shouted The Chairman over The Administrator. "I know but as far as I am concerned, he is in the clear for now. I still believe Syn-Gen is Earth's best bet but what can I do when Freelancer is showing results and you are not?"

"Lean on Church. Him and his Project Freelancer. Force him into a bottleneck of wasted time and slow him down until I can get ahead of the game. You won't regret this." Conspired The Administrator. His hologram straightened it's suit and turned around. "Who knows, you might even discover a few faults in your investigations...and only two names will be on that shortlist." Suddenly, the hologram flickered and disappeared. The Chairman was alone once more in his big dark office. The responsibility he had resting on his back was suffocating him. Decisions and alliances were becoming more strained by the day and on top of it all, if he failed, everyone was dead. Now more than ever, the choices he made would affect the future. He just wished there would be one.

* * *

**Thanks for reading Chapter Three! I'm so glad I could write in The Director and The Chairman for the first time. Expect to see them again later. Unfortunately, I've taken on too much of a workload, so it may be some time after I've completed this story of Syn-Gen that you will see the second.**

**Once again, thanks for reading and Chapter 4 will be up in a fortnight. Please PM/Review your opinions on the story!  
**


	4. Basic Training

Red vs. Blue: The Syn-Gen Stratagem

Year One

Chapter Four: Basic Training

**Hello readers! First off, I apologise for my tardiness. Came down with the flu and was out of commission for a week. Also, I have remedied the mistakes in the last chapter where I demoted Mitchell half-way through.**

**The second last chapter of Year One is up! This chapter spans over the three months of training Mitchell undergoes in order to finally test out his new abilities in the field. You'll find more about character relations and even see a darker side to some of the people. Please enjoy!**

* * *

Month One

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

This was the noise that Mitchell heard in his head every time he slammed it against the wall of his quarters. Lying on his bunk for the last two hours, the same question had been reeling through his mind over and over again; 'Why, oh why, did he tell her that he could find his quarters by himself?' It had been years since anything like that had been on the table. _**Years**_. There was this beautiful woman who liked him literally fallen into his lap and when she asked to show him to his quarters, he said 'No.' What the hell was wrong with him? Did the surgery make him stupid? That must be it. Either that or impotent. All he knew was that he had just made a big mistake. God knows whatever Natalie was doing right now, but he bet it wasn't anything as pathetic as what he was doing.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

This was the noise that Natalie heard in her head every time she slammed it against the wall of her quarters. Lying on her bunk for the last two hours, the same question had been reeling through her mind over and over again; 'Why, oh why, was she been so forward with Mitchell?' Asking to show him to his bunk? What the hell was she thinking? Mitchell was obviously the kind of guy who wanted to develop a relationship first, not just jump in bed with the first girl he bumps into. Or maybe he had. He'd already met Lilia, surely _**that**_ must be the reason. He's in love with _**her**_. It was so obvious; she was all cutesy lovey-dovey with everyone, even Alexander when they first met. One look at Mitchell and she leapt on him like a...a horny woman. It didn't matter now. She'd blown her chance and there was nothing she could do about it. Just another big mistake. God knows whatever Mitchell was doing right now, but she bet it wasn't anything as pathetic as what she was doing.

* * *

"I'm glad you decided to come back." Said Ben as Mitchell walked out of the elevator and into the Training Arena. "After what happened yesterday, I didn't know if you were up to the challenge."

"The challenge, yes." Mitchell walked past Ben without even looking at him. "You, no. I don't have to like you. I don't want to like you. However, since I have no other choice, I only have to say 'Yes sir' whenever you're done talking. Do we understand each other?"

"Yes..." Ben left a long gap, testing Mitchell who didn't even kick up a fuss.

"What have you got in mind for me to do today?"

"Workout." Ben chucked a pair of boxing mitts to Mitchell. "You've gotta build up some stamina, strength and muscle before we can get into any of the really tough exercises."

"I have muscle." Asserted Mitchell matter-of-fact-ly with a 'Bitch, please' look written all over his face. "I was in the military for seven years."

"And it only took you six months to lose it all...and gain a tad as well." Ben mused at Mitchell's belly which wasn't exactly flat. Mitchell took one look down at his stomach then immediately at Ben.

"What am I punching?"

"Me."

"Fantastic."

* * *

"So what do you think of your boss?" Mitchell just wanted to keep his mind off the needle in his arm, and this had been something he really wanted to know.

"The Administrator?" thought Lilia, removing the syringe from his arm. "I dunno, kinda secretive. There's not much about him that anyone knows about."

"What about what he's doing here? Does it seem..."

"Right?" checked Lilia. "I don't know about right. His intentions could benefit the whole of mankind...but as to whether it's worth it or not, that's another story. Why so curious?"

"Aren't you?" To his question was replied a shrug.

"I just learned to keep my mouth shut. I'm not as important as you are around here. He catches me snooping around his personal business then he'll give me an injury he knows I won't be able to mend myself." She checked Mitchell's blood pressure, not showing any signs as to whether it was good or bad. "Makes me wish I was back in the good 'ol corps."

"You were in the corps?"

"Nope. Got snatched up out of medic training. I'd just graduated from one of the finest medical schools around and figured it would be best put to use in the field. I was cruising ahead of everyone else...and that's when Alexander gave me his card." She took a long thoughtful look into the distance. "I regret not finishing it. There was one guy who was completely hopeless; Dufresne, I think his name was. I was practically dragging him through the whole thing. Still don't know if he made it in."

"And you probably never will." Droned the sickeningly droll voice of Alexander who had entered unannounced. Lilia pursed her lips in controlled contempt. "Nice to see you again, soldier." He muttered, barely even seeing Mitchell at all before returning to Lilia. "I'm going need your reports and blood work on Mitchell as soon as possible."

"They'll be ready in a few days." Politely explained Lilia. She turned her nose up at him and pretended to be busy with Mitchell.

"Just can't keep me off her mind." Smirked Alexander as he left the room.

"Has that guy always been a douche or does he take lessons?" queried Mitchell.

"I don't know if he goes to any classes...but I hear he teaches sometimes on Earth." She smiled. The rest of the examination continued without a hitch; apparently, Mitchell's muscles had become more exercised during these first two weeks than a regular person in a few months. With all of his training, he definitely felt stronger, lighter and faster. He clocked almost nine seconds around the hundred metre dash without breaking a sweat and his reflexes were outstandingly quick. Deep down, there was fear over the changes and what they might be doing to him, but there wasn't much he could do but learn more. After an hour, Lilia showed him to the door, chatting to him for a moment between rooms. When she had finally left, Mitchell noticed Natalie further down the hall. How long she had been standing there, he didn't know but when she saw him looking at her, she immediately tried to leave.

"Hold up!" he called, jogging down to her.

"Oh hey! Yeah, I didn't notice you." She lied. "How you been? Still keeping up the routine?"

"Mmm, yep. Rigorous and painful, but I guess it has to be." He paused, gauging her reaction. She seemed distant. "How've you been?"

"Good." She finally looked into his face. "Look, I hope I wasn't too forward that day."

"Oh, n-"

"It's just, there I was asking you to your quarters and we'd only just met."

"Yeah, bu-"

"And I was thinking afterwards; this guy doesn't want to have hot sex just after his life's been turned upside down."

"Well-"

"He's gonna want some time to get used to the changes, and me spending half the time on you wasn't going to help at all. You're not like other guys, are you?"

Mitchell's mouth opened and closed as he considered which route to take. Eventually, he opted for the high road.

"No, I guess I'm not." He said, still kicking himself on the inside.

"See, I was right." Sadly admitted Natalie to herself. "And after the way I saw you talking to Lilia, I should've known you two were seeing each other."

"No, but we're not-"

"Prescott!" called Alexander from down the hall. "We're gonna make modifications to the suit. Bring Colonel-Lover-Boy with you."

"All right!" she replied as Alexander disappeared down another corridor. "C'mon." They made their way to Engineering where they promptly strapped Mitchell into the MJOLNIR armour. It was a little tighter than usual.

"Well of course it's tighter!" mocked Alexander as he checked the programming from the computer tablet in his hand. "Your body is changing, getting bigger. They don't make body armour that reads 'One Size Fits All' on the tag. Just one more thing we'll need to correct thanks to you."

"Me?" exclaimed Mitchell, taken aback. "What did I do?"

"Well, _**I'm**_ not the one growing muscle around here, Sherlock!"

"Ain't that the truth." Muttered Natalie. Alexander glared in her direction, then returned to Mitchell.

"Don't be such a baby, just sit tight and wait for it all to be corrected." He finished off. It was a few seconds of utter boredom later that Mitchell couldn't stand being quiet anymore. This seemed like a better time than ever to get both of their opinions on the matter.

"So what do you guys think of The Administrator and his show?" While Alexander didn't respond at all, Natalie flinched slightly as though she didn't feel comfortable.

"I'm...not sure." She said, barely looking up.

"That's it?"

"What do you expect?" asked Alexander. "She's not payed to think about the man. She's payed to take care of that suit. Besides, she's not open to that sort of opinion."

"Well then what do _**you **_think of all this?" asked Mitchell.

"I think The Administrator's initiative is set to bring forth the greatest advantages the human race will ever own against hostile races. I'm proud to be part of this and humbled by my position in it all."

"And for a moment there, I thought you might just be a little modest." Joked Mitchell.

"As far as I'm concerned, modesty is not important. Especially working with something as prestigious as Syn-Gen."

"Yeah, I'm not too good with the name." Considered Mitchell, biting the insides of his cheeks. "'Syn-Gen'? I mean, what is that?"

"Synthetic Genetics." Stated Natalie. "We're bringing about natural genetic changes in your body through synthetic means. Get it?"

"I'm...gonna say yes. Yes." Smiled Mitchell. "Hey, Nat. I'd love to know more about this suit."

"I bet you would." Murmured Alexander suggestively.

"_**I was wondering**_," continued Mitchell through gritted teeth, "if you wouldn't mind teaching me about it in your spare time?"

"Erm..." she glanced at Alexander, then around the room. She wasn't quite sure. In the end, she figured; what's the worst that could happen?

* * *

Month Two

"How does she feel?"

"_She? Seriously? We're calling the suit a 'she'?"_

"Why not? Ain't a girl supposed to fit a man like a glove?"

"_You've got a dirty mind, Christianson."_

"I try my best." Ben watched as Mitchell got the feel for his newly improved body armour. It was much more comfortable than the times he had worn it to be re-set to his body shape. It was much less heavier too now that all the systems were up and running, taking a load from his own body. It felt like a new body itself, as though an extra protective layer of flesh had grown over his own. "Can you move around okay?" asked Ben.

"_Fine, fine. Let's see what __**she**__ can do." _Mitchell rolled his shoulders and stretched his limbs, feeling the resistance of the body armour, which surprisingly wasn't much. He joined Ben over at the firing range. _"You guys make a manual or...did you put it together from IKEA?"_

"Let's just see how you do firing detached weaponry first. Don't want to send you out into the field just to find out you can't shoot because your visor is too small."

"_Funny, funny."_ Taunted Mitchell, grabbing a M6D Pistol for both him and his teacher. Ben checked the chamber before quickly cutting down every target in the range.

"Your turn." He smirked. Almost in the blink of an eye, Mitchell hit every target, his arm practically flowing from one to the next as they were each shot in the centre of the bullseye. Christianson blinked, dumbfounded.

"_So what do you think?"_ asked Mitchell as he flipped a MA5B Assault Rifle from its stand and shot every target again with single shots. _"Do there appear to be any faults with my line of sight?"_

"Uh...nope." Christianson had a hard time wiping the expression of awe slapped all over his stupid face. "Uh..." he continued, buying time in order to get his speech back as well. "P-Prescott and Tuvix wanted you to test out the suit's in-built weaponry. Follow me." They walked to a small makeshift street, obviously meant for combat scenario training.

"_Seriously?"_ frowned Mitchell_. "I don't think I'll be deployed into the middle of a suburban street. That's what the local authorities are for."_

"It's a simulation, Paxx. Just go in and get it over and done with." With a sigh, Mitchell jumped over the divide and entered the street. He waited for a moment for the first target to appear when a question entered his mind.

"_Hey, these targets don't fire back, do they?"_ Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

"...Yep." As the first five targets appeared, Mitchell had the sense to dive behind what little cover he could find and activated his wrist turrets. He ran out into the open, dodging enemy fire and returning his own.

"_Gah!"_ He growled in annoyance.

"How's it handling?" asked Ben, watching safely from afar.

"_Crappy!" _answered the Colonel as he defended himself from more moving targets appearing in building windows and around the street. _"The aim is shithouse...and these cannons have a mother of a kick-back! Is it too late to get a refund?"_

"Quit being a smartarse!"

"_Easy for you to say!"_ The final target appeared at the far end of the street. It shot Mitchell harmlessly in the shoulder, but it wouldn't get away with it. _"Ooh, I've wanted to test out this baby." _A mechanical arm rose above his left shoulder, a small missile chained to the top. _"Deployment. Aim. Fi-Shit!" _SHOOM! While the missile zoomed towards its intended target, Mitchell was pushed back in the opposite direction.

"Paxx! Get out of there! Get out of there right now!" called Christianson. Mitchell looked up from the ground and saw the missile circling above the final target. It didn't know where it was going. Finally, it dived, crashed through the target and headed back down the street for the two live targets remaining.

"_Son of a bitch!"_ Mitchell hauled ass back down the training course, the missile closing in behind him. _"Target lock isn't working and I have no control over the missile's guidance system!"_

"Set the auto-destruct!" ordered Christianson.

"_I don't wanna do this!" _screamed Mitchell as he dove above the divide andtackled Ben to the ground as the missile exploded behind them. He could feel the fire licking his armour and the shrapnel clanging against his back but when it was all over, they were both still alive. As soon as it was, he pulled himself up off of Ben and said; _"Don't think this makes us friends."_

* * *

"You do realise that this is all your fault." Stated Alexander. It is understandable for someone to have trouble with criticism, even to have a hard time accepting it. For Alexander Tuvix, accepting criticism was completely impossible. No matter how many times Mitchell had explained what had gone wrong with the suit's weaponry systems, he was assured only one answer 'it was always _**his**_ fault'.

"How?" he asked simply after the quadrillionth time being told.

"You didn't know how to use the systems properly. You should have studied the manual."

"Well, if _**somebody**_ would hurry up and finish writing the damn thing, we wouldn't have this problem, would we?"

"Don't try and push blame back on me; you're the one who screwed up."

"I reckon that's what your momma told dada when she found out she was pregnant with you!"

"Boys, stop!" shouted Natalie who had been trying to repair elements of the suit without the slightest bit of help. With Mitchell and his armour strapped to the table, Alexander checking his programming algorithms and both of them bitching back and forth, it was getting just a little annoying. "Do you want this thing to work perfectly at some near point in the future?"

"Yes." They answered in unison.

"Then shut up!" And with that said, Natalie returned to work. Mitchell half smiled while Alexander was at a loss for words.

"I'm...gonna go...check the service logs." He mumbled and quickly left. Mitchell had been waiting for this opportunity for a while now; some one-on-one time with Natalie.

"Hey, Nat." he said. If he could smack himself in the face, he would. What kind of an opening line was that?

"Mmm?" she answered.

"I was wondering. Since, you know, I'm gonna be out in the field and all. If I were stranded somewhere distant then I'd probably need to repair the armour on my own. So it would be good if you might teach me how to do that." She looked up at him. "Just a couple of private lessons?" Natalie smiled and kept working.

"I dunno. What would Lilia think of us all alone?" she asked.

"Nothing. We're not going out."

"Aww. And when did this happen?"

"Uh...all the time. We were never going out." Explained Mitchell.

"Why did you tell me you were going out with her then?" Natalie was suddenly a little angry.

"Hey, I said nothing. You were the one who assumed I was but you kept talking and talking and then Mr. Cheerio interrupted us before I could get a word in edgewise." Mitchell noticed Natalie's raised eyebrow at his 'talking and talking' comment. "Not that you talk a lot. Just that you wouldn't stop at the time. I mean-I...I...I'm dead now, aren't I?" Thankfully now, as Natalie started laughing. She leaned in closer to Mitchell's face, a warm, cheeky smile stretched across it.

"I don't see why you can't have lessons with me." She said. "It'll be fun teaching you new things."

"About the suit, you mean."

"Sure, that too."

* * *

It had been a great couple of weeks; Mitchell's health was through the roof, he hadn't seen hide nor hair of Alexander and, well, just that everything was getting better. He had been told by Lilia after his last examination that the Nano-Cells had also found a way to increase the half-life of his cells, thereby increasing his lifespan. She estimated at the current rate of decay he would age one year every three to four regular years. But that wasn't the best news. His lessons with Natalie were going great; he was barely keeping down any of the knowledge, but they were really forging something special with each other. Maybe even one day soon, they might even- "Paxx! You got a couple o' minutes?" This was the worst part. Seeing Ben Christianson every day was driving him crazy. Every time he looked into those smug eyes, he just wanted to tear them out. If the man pushed him any further, he would probably do worse. "You hear me?"

"Yeah, yeah, I hear you." Spat Mitchell. They had only just finished more armour training and Mitchell was in no mood for any more exercises. He'd also just finished taking off the suit too. No way he was getting back into it.

"Relax, I only wanna have a friendly sparring." Said Ben in an annoyingly dry fashion.

"Verbal or physical?" asked Mitchell. Ben held up two pair of boxing gloves.

"The latter." He said. Needless to say that Mitchell was no longer opposed to the idea anymore. At first it appeared just to be a friendly little tousle between the two gentlemen, just knocking each other for a little recreation. But everything changed then Ben decided to open his big mouth. "I've been thinking about the squad. Those boys were one of a kind."

"We didn't try to let the war get to us. Didn't let rank or situation define us." Said Mitchell. He didn't know why Ben had started this up again, but he had no right to bring up the squad.

"They liked it too much in the end." Commented Ben. "The fighting, looking in their faces, you'd think they enjoyed it. Even you." There was a moment between them, it was small but powerful. Mitchell pushed away from it, landing his punches slightly harder than before. "That's the reason I got out when I did. I didn't want to enjoy it."

"Hah!" scoffed Mitchell. "Please. You got out because you didn't want to die, plain and simple."

"Oh, and I suppose-" Ben landed quite a rough punch to Mitchell, "-that makes me a fool then?"

"It makes you less of a friend. You could have told us, saved us all, but you didn't. That makes you a fool."

"And aren't you happy up there on your high horse? Let's face it, you just can't stand that for the first time, _**I'm**_ not the one taking your orders."

"I'm just glad I'm not under the thumb of a man like The Administrator." Laughed off Mitchell. "Don't you think this whole thing is a little suss to you?"

"Personally, Colonel, I don't give a flying fuck. This here is a job. It's a comfy job with everything I need for fine living. I don't really care about my boss, just as long as he keeps those dollars rolling."

"You're all heart, Christianson."

"And you're full of shit, Paxx."

"Want me to show you how full of shit I am?"

"Thought you'd never ask!" shouted Ben, throwing his mitts to the ground. Mitchell threw his off too and proceeded to box Christianson bare fisted. Each blow hurt both men, it didn't matter if you were the recipient or deliverer of the attack. Five minutes into the 'friendly' scuffle and both men were bloodied on their faces and knuckles and bruised almost everywhere else.

"You're starting to look tired, Ben." Teased Mitchell. "This cushy job really has taken you off your game."

"I'll show you whose tired, old man!" Ben went for another punch, but Mitchell ducked under and delivered his own straight into his chest. Ben staggered, dropping to one knee. Before Mitchell could stop himself, he gripped his fists together and sent them crashing down into Ben's left thigh. The crack echoed around the training room and the blood was gushing from the wound, the bone visible under the leg. Despite the hatred he had for this man, Mitchell was all too aware that he had taken things too far.

* * *

Month Three

Two shattered ribs, cracked jaw, fractured left arm and cleaved left thigh. The prominent of all injuries to Ben Christianson was none of these; his was pride. The rest were merely present to remind him of his own mortality. None of this had been said of course, he had refused any visitors personally. Only Lilia was allowed in to treat him, but even that was only when absolutely required. Mitchell saw it in his eyes; they were fixed on the far wall, never moving but full of deep thought. He had been watching Ben for well over a week now through Observation and in all that time, he had been unresponsive to almost anything. Where nothing appeared to be happening in Ben's world, guilt had been raining down upon Mitchell's head ever since that day. Why had he gone this far? "He'll be alright." Said Lilia. She had been watching Mitchell from the door and decided he needed some kind of relief.

"Will he?" Mitchell really wanted to know if she was just humouring him. Unfortunately, she was.

"He'll have a permanent limp in his left leg where the bone tore through the muscle and the other injuries make it impossible for him to return to training you." She answered. "So apart from them, he'll be alright. What were you thinking?"

"I wish I knew."

"What do you mean?" asked Natalie hours later sitting in her office. She had taken up the same topic and since he had been asked what he was thinking by Lilia, the answer hadn't really changed. He was truly not sure.

"I just got so...angry. I mean, really pissed. But this isn't like me. If I have a problem with someone, I don't break their leg or ruin their career. It was like all rational thought was blocked and it all just came out. For a moment, I even enjoyed it."

"What does Tuvix think about this?" asked Natalie, but she gathered the answer from Mitchell's snort.

"Tuvix? _'Your problem, your fault,'_ I can't argue with that logic. Not this time." He drank from his beer and shifted on his stool. He never thought he'd admit that bastard right.

"What about The Administrator? What's he done about this?"

"I haven't seen hide nor hair of him since orientation day. Besides, I don't think he really gives a crap."

"What do you think of him?" asked Natalie hesitantly. Mitchell was a little confused by the question, he didn't think anyone here would want his opinion and especially of that man.

"Well, I'm not sure. That's why I've been asking you lot. Besides, I thought you liked the bloke."

"That was for Alexander's sake. If he heard me badmouthing The Administrator, he'd go blabbing before you could say 'brown-nose'. I mean, seriously. The guy worships him like a God." Natalie took a swig of her own beer with a little difficulty as she stifled her chuckles. "To be honest, he's weird. Not in a regular way either. Sure, he's eccentric and powerful, but in a really chilling, menacing way. I'm frightened of him. I'm suspicious of what he's doing, but...I'm alone and frightened." She looked into Mitchell's eyes with a delicate gleam in her own. They drew him in closer, until their eyes were not the only things to meet.

* * *

"Colonel." The voice awoke Mitchell from his sleep so suddenly. He had been dreaming about the kiss earlier that evening until The Administrator appeared in the room.

"Sir." Said Mitchell, standing to attention.

"At ease. This isn't the army. Not yet." The hologram rounded Paxx, its presence more real than any other man. "I've heard about your incident with Sergeant Christianson. A shame, but I am not disappointed. You're proving quite formidable."

"Thank you sir." Sighed Mitchell, not very proud of the compliment.

"And your progress physically is unmatched. You're making the Stratagem proud." The Administrator paused and, seemingly, bit his lip. "I understand you've been asking about me. Curiosity isn't forbidden, Paxx, but if you are going to ask about me, it should be with me. And besides, you only really need to know one thing." He moved in closer to the man, his image almost growing in size and his voice almost sounding like it was in the room. "You may be an enhanced being, but don't forget who put you where you are now...because you are by no means immortal."

* * *

"_How you feeling, son?"_

"You don't happen to have a sedative standing by, do ya?"

"_Roger that. This walk will only take a minute."_

"What if it takes a little less than that?"

"_There's a possibility of that."_

"What advice do you have for me, then?"

"_No advice...but it does help to __**not**__ be in the testing armour. Relax Paxx; you'll be back home in no time. This thing was designed and built by experts down to the T."_

"Yeah, but you've got nothing to worry about. You're safe aboard that Observation Station out there...and that's just your image I'm talking about. The real you is probably in some concrete bunker."

"_Can't blame me for being cautious."_

"Then don't blame me for being skittish." Mitchell was the definition of nervous. This was the 'Out-Of-Environment Test' and where better to test the limits of no environment than the vacuum of space? The Administrator was being his good old helpful self, and Alexander's only piece of advice before he left was 'don't break anything'. If anyone, he preferred Natalie's farewell; the longest damn smooch of his life. He almost laughed when he heard the nearby technician clear his throat. Then he had been chucked into this dark chamber where he supposed he would soon be blasted into space from. Some light could have been useful.

"_Alexander is going to run you through the ejection procedure now."_

"Oh, goodie." Droned Mitchell. Even over the P.A. Alexander still sounded like a real git. He cleared his throat with the greatest sensitivity.

"_Hello Mitchell, how are you?" _To cut it short, nobody would have responded. _"Okay then. When the doors open, you'll be pulled out into space. Keep your arms and legs spread so that we can monitor the effects on all sections. If you should feel dizziness or there should be a rupture in the suit, immediately expel all oxygen from your lungs, close your eyes, curl up into a tiny ball and await for us to arrive. Did you understand that?"_

"I understand that to get from danger to safe I have to get into the completely opposite position I am in now. Yes, I think so." Mitchell heard someone snigger over the coms.

"_Nice working with you, Paxx. I'll see you in hell."_

"I'll warn Satan you're coming."

"_P.H.L.S.S., commence ejection countdown." _Ordered The Administrator.

"_Countdown commenced. Ejection of Prototype MJOLNIR Main Battle Armour in five, four, three, two, ejection in progress."_ The unseen hatch before Mitchell opened and he was picked up and pulled out into space. He felt stick looking around at first, so he closed his eyes and waited for his body to settle. When he opened them again, he saw the large blanket of beautiful bright stars surrounding him. _Ejection complete." _Rang P.H.L.S.S.'s voice in his ears. _"No faults detected."_

"_It looks like a success from here, Mitchell. Good work." _Congratulated The Administrator proudly.

"Thank the makers; all I did was wear it." Said Mitchell.

"_I need to go gloat. Someone wants to speak to you." _The microphone bumped as it was passed across to someone else.  
_"Congratulations. I'm glad to see you in one piece."_

"Ben?"

"_Doc's are letting me out tomorrow, so I decided to take in the big event. Hey, no hard feelings. We were both acting like jerks and all. Can we just call it a draw?" _joked Ben.

"Sure, why not?" laughed Mitchell.

"_So how does it feel out there? Don't keep me in suspense." _Mitchell thought for a moment, but he had been trying to find the words all this time anyway.

"It's inexplicable." He said.

"_And you're the poet. Alright, I guess I'll have to take the next walk-Shit! Paxx, get-jets a-back to the-"_

"Christianson? Christianson? You're breaking up!" Mitchell tried to hit his receiver back into operation. "P.H.L.S.S., what is happening?"

"_Our transmissions are being jammed."_

"Jammed by what?"

"_That."_ It was plain to see, just hovering above Mitchell. A giant ship bearing down over him like a silent shark closing in on a lonely fish.

"Come in! Somebody, tell me what is that?" he yelled again.

"_Mitchell-Insurr-" _and then the radio went completely dead. A hatch opened on the incoming ship and a device lowered itself down in front of Mitchell. There was no sound, but electricity began zapping across its surface.

"Oh shit." Swore Mitchell.

"_Ejecting program. Goodbye." _Said P.H.L.S.S. just before all the lights went out.

* * *

**Thank you very much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this one and will leave a review or a PM. With only one left to write, I would very much welcome any opinions or questions as to what you think of the story or if you are just generally curious. The final chapter should be up in a fortnight, if I don't come down with the flu again. Thanks again and see you soon!**


	5. Out Of The Frying Pan

Red vs. Blue: The Syn-Gen Stratagem

Year One

Chapter Five: Out Of The Frying Pan

**Hello people! Apologies for my tardiness. This is the last chapter of Syn-Gen Year One. It takes place completely away from everything that has been established in the previous chapters and takes Mitchel, as you can guess from the title, out of the frying pan. I hope you enjoy reading as much as I have enjoyed writing.**

**After finishing this, I am going on a hiatus from FanFiction for a while. During that time, I will be focusing on writing my novel, with small breaks in between for these stories but they will not be put up immediately. Instead, they will be stockpiled so that I am not rushed to churn them out. For now, here is one final chapter before the break. Enjoy!**

* * *

Zap! The pain surged through him like bees through a hive, stinging him wherever they went. He couldn't see much apart from the single shaft of light aimed at his eyes. However, he did see the nodes attached to his forehead, and as he looked down, more over his body. "Rise and shine, Colonel Paxx." Said a young male voice. It was smooth and calm to the point of ecstasy. Mitchell didn't like it. Personally. "You have many things which we need to know."

"Who are yo-" Another charge channelled through his body. It was painful, but it tensed his muscles so he was unable to shout, let alone speak. When it was over, his front flopped like a dead fish onto his knees. As he tried to catch his breath, a cold black glove pulled him back by the hair to sit upright in his chair.

"_**I**_ ask the questions here, Colonel. Is that understood, soldier?" Mitchell refused to answer. The hand tightened its pull, some of the hairs snapping while others were ripped slowly from the scalp. "That was rule number one. Rule number two is that you must answer my questions without hesitation. Do. You. Understand?"

"Y-You already know goddamn well what my answer is!" gasped an out of breath Mitchell. The hand released him and the pain began again. Luckily, he had experienced worse but that didn't stop the effects from being any easier on his body. Coughing, Mitchell gathered himself up and laid back in the chair.

"What can you tell me about The Syn-Gen Stratagem?" The man waited for a response, no hint of annoyance in his voice. "Who is The Administrator? Have you seen his face?" Once again, no answer. "Do you know anything concerning Project Freelancer and the workings and or location of The Director and The Chairman?" After a third dose of silence, the man sighed and knelt down to Mitchell. "This will all go a lot smoother if you tell me what I want."

"Paxx, Mitchell. Colonel. Thirteenth Battalion. Serial number; one, one, four, seven, n-"

* * *

She was probably the most normally dressed woman in the facility. Walking from the landing pad, she had been surprised by how many security personnel wore facial coverings, even the technicians, obscuring their facial features. It was either for anonymity or protection purposes, but to her it was just ridiculous. The one face that wasn't hidden didn't exactly brighten hopes of human contact. The man she had come to meet had one large gash across his young face, his left eye faded to white. For a boy, he had obviously seen more than many aged men. He greeted her with a slight bounce, hands clamped together behind his back. "Miss Cramer, I presume." He began softly in an approachable tone. "Welcome to our humble abode. I'm glad you could make it on such short notice."

"Spare me the short talk, Six. Take me to him and explain on the way." Miriam said in her most stern voice that she could muster. Six directed her down an adjoining corridor and followed an armed guard through the complex. He saw Miriam rubbing the back of her neck. He had also seen the bags under her eyes when she had first approached.

"Jet-lag?" he queried. She looked up at him with tired eyes. "You're quite exhausted."

"It wasn't exactly lunch time back in the Emerald City when I was called in." snorted Miriam, rolling her head from side to side. "I had a lot of reading to get through before I arrived. I'll be fine for it."

"I have no doubt. It would put quite a sting in the whole operation should he get a whiff of your fatigue. 'It's all about having strength on your side, show them that their efforts with the enemy have not affected us as much as they think. Make a lie become the truth.' Your words, I believe."

"I see that I'm not the only one who's been doing their homework." Said Miriam. "Right out of 'Mind over Mentality'. You read my book."

"Your methods are quite ingenious. The way your techniques fool the patient into believing lies and thereby making them better." Summarised Six, almost intoning intrigue. "Any other psychiatrist worth their salt would claim this to be the devil's work. I see it as...potential for something greater."

"I'm flattered." Lied Miriam. No matter what kind of compliment was paid to her by this man, it wouldn't matter; he was below her status. An old mentor of hers once said that if you were ever going to take praise, it only ever meant anything from people of a higher significance than yourself. "But I wonder how a man such as yourself; with many battle scars and enough medals and titles to rival them, has managed to adapt to a quiet service in a research facility?" She glanced in his direction, reading his reaction. He wasn't liking his transfer at all. "Does The Insurrection have a poor idea for retirement?"

"We're not exactly the military, Miss Cramer." He responded, a little annoyed at the truth of his own statement. "When a soldier is damaged beyond serviceable repair, he is replaced. When one of _**us**_ is damaged beyond serviceable repair, we're not shipped off to some cushy resort where we may bask in the sun at the cost of a pension. We're a rebellious front, we use what we can get. To my superiors, I'm leftovers." Miriam pondered over this for a moment as they stopped at a sealed iron door.

"One other thing; why are you called 'Six'? Is that some sort of ranking?" she asked. Six swiped a key card through its reader.

"No." he rasped, sounding a little older than usual. "It's how many times I died on the operating table." The lock bleeped and the door slid open. Six stepped inside first, ignoring Miriam completely. Inside was a small observation station filled with computers and equipment. There was a large window at the far end that overlooked a cylindrical cell. Inside this cell was a man restrained to what appeared to be a cross between a chair and a table. Miriam could see him screaming and struggling, but all noise was supressed.

"Is that...?" she checked. Six nodded. "How long has he been in there?"

"Two weeks. He's been kicking a fuss the whole time."

"And he knows how to make us worried." Said a doctor by the main console. He approached Miriam with a hand outstretched ready to shake. She accepted, but hated the fact that he was wearing a mask. "Doctor Simon Pascalle. I've been overseeing the Colonel during his residence."

"What can you tell me about him?" asked Miriam. Although it sounded more like an order.

"He's a smart one, not like your average grunt. If I didn't know any better, I'd say _**he**_ was testing us more than we were him."

"How so?"

"Well, as Six pointed out, he's been unsettled all the time he's been here." Explained Dr Pascalle. "And when he said non-stop, he means non-stop. Four whole days of kicking and screaming exhausted him to the point of...well, near death. He simply refused to eat, so we had to start pumping the food into him. All of the people we've had in here before you have either been verbally abused or completely ignored. One day, he almost escaped."

"We used to take him out of the chair for recreational purposes, otherwise his muscles would deteriorate." Said Six. "On one of these days, Mitchell somehow managed to steal a cardkey and pen from one of his clerks. Thankfully, he only made it as far as this room."

"Ever since then, he's had to be sedated, force fed, we've had to outfit the chair with pads to massage the muscles and keep them intact, make the room soundproof, and let me tell you _**that**_ was a blessing, and kept under round the clock watch." Concluded Pascalle. "Needless to say, I think he knows we need him alive."

"It said in the report that the Colonel was physically enhanced. Why doesn't he just use brute force to escape, it seems he has the capacity to from what I've been told." Asked Miriam.

"If you'll take a look at these." Pascalle directed her over to a monitor and pulled up images of Mitchell's brain scans. As he increased the magnification, it became clear what was wrong. "You see, Colonel Paxx's abilities were the result of these Nano creations. They transformed his body chemistry into some pretty advanced stages of human evolution that we won't see for thousands of years. When we hit him with the EMP blast, they went offline, knocking him out." He changed the image to one of Mitchell's internal body scans and indicated areas throughout his form. "Most of these changes hadn't been completed. Either they've been slowed down to the point where they won't occur for months or the changes are reversing." All this might've interested Miriam if she had been after his physical abilities, but what she was really after was his mind. She didn't care about advanced genetics, artificial probes and state of the art battle armour. The brain intrigued her more. Much more.

"I'll speak to him now." She said. Again, more like an order.

"I don't think that's wise; he's in one of his more heated moods." Pascalle indicated Mitchell through the window. He was still unsettled.

"Miriam Cramer is an expert." Assured Six. "She handles cases like this all the time. Right?"

"Of course." Answered Miriam. "Don't listen in. I want him to feel relaxed...for as long as I need him to." She made her way down the staircase towards the cell door. Six caught a glace of her face; no longer weary and tired, but bright and fiery. She looked like a woman who had found their life's meaning and she wasn't going to let the opportunity pass her by. The second she entered the cell, the prisoner looked her over and immediately decided to be quiet. Not only that, but ignore her. Apparently, the wall next to her was much more interesting because he couldn't take his eyes off it. Miriam too made her observations from a safe distance. He would be a hard nut to crack. She leaned up against the wall and inhaled loudly. "You got a girlfriend, Mitch?" she asked. No response. If anything, Mitchell just concentrated on the wall all the more harder. "I do, back home. She's lovely; we met at a conference on 'Psychology Technique Comparisons with Human Cross Tree Studies'. Weird, right? Comparing thought patterns of a flesh and blood human with a tree. Well anyway, we bumped into each other in the foyer and started discussing how moronic the whole thesis was. I made some stupid crack about I felt like telling the guy to make like a tree and leave, so then she comes back at me with 'this thesis isn't worth the trees it's printed on' and I am hooked right there. I guess the moral of the story is that you don't really know what's gonna come your way. I mean, I had a horrible day, I never thought it was going to end yet I end up meeting the love of my life there. It just goes to show that something that looks like a bad situation might actually be your salvation. What do you think?" For the first time in a while, Mitchell blinked. Slowly, his head rolled over until it faced Miriam.

"You're a lesbian?" he asked simply.

"I'm glad you were paying attention to the whole story." She smiled. "For a moment there, I thought you weren't paying attention."

"You'd be surprised how much detail I can remember. Who are you?"

"It isn't important."

"Then I'm not telling you mine."

"I didn't say you had to."

"But you already know my name."

"True."

"So why bother telling me I don't need to tell you my name?"

"Because I wanted to give you the choice. Isn't that what Syn-Gen has denied you? Choice? Freedom? Free will, the power to control your own destiny?" Mitchell was silent, but this time listening. "I doubt you really trust the stratagem, let alone its chief of staff; The Administrator. Didn't he recruit you through lies and deception? Doesn't seem much of an ally in the long run."

"Yeah, says the same people who stole me and are keeping me locked up in a cell!" barked Mitchell.

"Stole? You are not some piece of hardware, Paxx. I wouldn't be surprised you'd think like that; with all the time you've spent there, I bet the idea was drilled into your mind from the very beginning." Miriam straightened her back, appearing strong. "Our methods were necessary. Unfortunate, but necessary and we apologise. If you would be so kind as to listen to what I have to say and offer, then we may be able to come to some sort of an agreement." Mitchell leaned as close to Miriam as the restrains would allow.

"I don't respect people who refuse to introduce themselves, especially when they already know me." He struggled, straining himself against the grip of the shackles.

"Professor Miriam Cramer. We are The Insurrection." The words filtered through the air. After a tense moment, Mitchell relaxed and nodded for Miriam to begin. "We've been watching you since as long as we've known about Syn-Gen but we've had tabs on them too. There's more going on behind the scenes than you think; The Administrator is fighting his own personal war against The Director, a battle that could see the future of humanity lost. He's practically in bed with The Chairman of the Oversight Committee but my point is none of them care about Covenant movements or giving Earth and advantage over them. It's personal vendettas, titles and money that concern them."

"And what concerns you?" asked Mitchell.

"Death, plain and simple." Answered Miriam. "We want you to join us. Freely, of your own admission, to help The Insurrection put an end to all this stupidity and end the war...but you don't believe a word I've said, do you?"

"Lady, you've been telling me things I already know. While these people may not have a great track record, yours isn't so shiny." Mitchell turned to the ceiling. "I suppose you're going to do some more 'unfortunate but necessary' things to change my mind."

"Necessary, yes." Miriam pulled herself away from the wall and knocked once on the door. "I suppose, you'll do your best to resist us."

"Yep." Said Mitchell. As the door opened, one last question popped into his head. "Hey, you really a lesbian or was all that just bullshit?" Miriam smiled and turned back to him.

"It was the truth."

"Not all of it, though."

"No, not all. Until next time." She returned to the observation station, keeping her eye on Mitchell through the window.

"What do you suggest?" Six asked immediately even though he knew what the answer was. He had been looking forward to hearing it all day.

* * *

"What do you mean 'it has had no effect'?" barked Six. "It has been two whole weeks. Cramer herself has been personally overseeing every stage of the process and you are telling me that _**nothing**_ has happened?" He just couldn't believe it. This man was more stubborn than any human. For a fortnight, Miriam had been using special techniques to alter Mitchell's thoughts and turn him; torture in many respects. Psychological torture. Hallucinogens, subliminal suggestions, continuous visual stimuli, electroshock treatment, ice baths, pain agitators, nightmare inducers, isolation; the works all rolled into one. It was enough to drive any sane man out of his mind. "Why is it not working?"

"To be honest, I'm not entirely sure myself." Admitted Dr Pascalle. "But I have a theory. I believe that there may be some sort of interference."

"Outside interference? That's impossible." Stated Six.

"No, not outside. Quite the contrary in point of fact." Pascalle pulled up a blueprint of the Nano-Cells and showed them to Six. "We've gone through these a hundred times and discovered that each batch of Nano probes was specifically created with a certain task in mind but there was one that we had no idea what purpose it served."

"But they're all dead. How can they be helping him?"

"That's the funny thing, sir. They are off, but these particular probes went offline weeks before we captured the Colonel." Explained Pascalle. "Whatever they did must've been directly associated to the mind. That's what I theorised and that's what led me to find...this." He switched over to a brain scan, measuring synaptic activity.

"Are those..._**two**_ sets?" asked an astounded Six.

"One set grafted to be in sync with the other." Summarised Pascalle. "Almost like a double personality, only much more subtle. Whatever troubles you've been having cracking Paxx, this is the cause."

"Is there any way to purge it?"

"Not in time. Those repressed abilities of his are starting to return at an accelerated rate. It's only a matter of days before they come back and this is one tough little bugger to expel."

In the next room, Mitchell lay panting. He was afraid that if he stopped breathing in and out so fast that he would surely lose control. It's not as though the torture didn't take it out of him, physically or mentally, the tole was clearly visible to anyone who looked. All of it was killing him. It had killed him, several times over. Somehow, whenever he thought it was over, he would still be alive. God knows that this poor man had prayed for death during his captivity but someone else was keeping him grounded. He wasn't even sure anymore if he wanted them to succeed. That's when Six entered the room. Gradually over the course of this hell, while Mitchell showed only mild fatigue, Six had been growing much more impatient. He had become less tolerant of failure and even shot one of his own men for insubordination in front of Mitchell. Six rounded on the restrained soldier, an odd squeak with every step he took, and grabbed him by the collar. "Alright, you persistent son of a bitch! I want to talk to you!"

"What the hell do you want with me?" growled Mitchell and was met with a sharp blow to the head.

"I'm not talking to you, Paxx! I'm talking to that other fucker living inside your head, screwing up our plans!" shouted Six, shaking with anger. "I want him to talk and I want him to get out!"

"I don't know what you're-"

"LIER!" The restraints suddenly unclamped. Six picked up Mitchell and flipped him onto the cold, hard floor. Before Mitchell could retaliate, Six kicked him in the gut, sending him back into the wall. He pulled back on Mitchell's hair and whispered furiously in his ear; "You would have noticed by now. I bet you and that buddy of yours have little tea parties inside that small head of yours. I'm sure he'd wanna get out, seeing as it's a little cramped...or _**maybe**_ he'll push you out instead."

"Go fuck yourself." Choked Mitchell.

"Don't make me..." Six withdrew his pistol, "...force you both out all over this room." Mitchell tried to turn around but Six sent his elbow into the side of his head. Six dug the barrel of the pistol into Mitchell's brain stem. "Since we can't turn you, we can't let you live. It's a shame, really. Now you won't be able to see the empire I planned on creating using the technology you've given us."

"You're not better than The Administrator."

"Oh, but I am...because by the end of this war, _**I'll**_ still be alive." Six stood up, gun still against Mitchell's head. "Like I said, shame."

"I hope that's a water pistol you're holding there, Six." Came the cool voice of Professor Miriam Cramer standing in the cell doorway. At the mere sight of her silhouette, Mitchell couldn't control his impulses. He took Six's distraction and charged at Miriam, arms outstretched to strangle her where she stood. But he wasn't fast enough. A cold arm held Mitchell back just barely inches from her.

"I'll kill you one of these days." He hissed, spitting at her. "For what you've done to me." Six swung Mitchell around and slammed him head first into the wall, knocking him out cold. Six turned to Miriam and glared darkly at her. In his opinion, she had failed.

"He won't be broken." She said. "Not while this other entity exists. There is nothing we can do with Mitchell anymore, he's useless."

"Then why didn't you let me finish him and be done with it?" barked Six.

"Because we are not barbarians!" she replied sternly. "And you are not here to have fun. We're taking all of our information gathered about the Nano probes and the battle armour and taking them to safer quarters. I suggest you wipe the spittle off your suit." Miriam turned and began her exit. "Make one last brain scan, then be humane."

"Yes, ma'am." Muttered Six. He waited until he was sure she had left the observation station then added; "I thought you were supposed to be just an advisor." With one final bitter glance at the lump on the floor, he left Dr Pascalle to clean up the mess. He did so without question, without complaint, without insulting Six under his breath. Wait, scratch that last bit. It was difficult for a man of his stature to pick up a heavy brute like Mitchell and drag him back onto the table. After one final scan of his brain, Pascalle prepped the euthanizing solution. The mechanical arm slowly hummed its way next to Mitchell, extending its arm to hover above his forehead, the needle point ready for injection. It was then that Pascalle noticed a highly paced rhythmic beat that he discovered was Mitchell's heartbeat. The monitor was reading a dangerously high pulse. He glanced over to Mitchell; his eyes were rolling in their sockets as though struggling with himself to wake up. Just when his heart seemed it would burst, Mitchell's eyes snapped open, the rest of his body went rigid.

"It's time...we escaped..." he shivered before falling limp into the chair. There was no more beat, no more life left. He was dead. It took Pascalle several seconds to realise that he should do something. He looked all over the vital readings just to confirm that termination had taken place. It had. Nothing left to do but dispose of the body.

'Isn't that a treat.' Thought Pascalle in his most sarcastic voice. 'Dragging dead people all the way down to the incinerator. Could be worse, I suppose.' He mused as he unclamped the restraints. 'I could be like Six; that guy is worse than dead.' Suddenly, from out of the blue, a needle stuck in Pascalle's neck. This needle was attached to a robotic arm and the robotic arm was being controlled by an organic one connected to the dead Colonel. Only now, he wasn't dead. But after several seconds in which Pascalle tried to figure out what was happening, he was dead, dangling like a rag from the empty syringe. Pale and almost ready to faint, Mitchell slumped his way off the chair, the sheet falling away as he crashed to the floor. His head was spinning so much that he threw up in the corner. It helped; his mind was beginning to realign. He crawled to Pascalle and took his cardkey. Stumbling and staggering, he barely walked his way out of the cell and through the observation station. There was no idea of knowing where he was going, but luckily there weren't too many people in the corridors that seemed to stretch around and out of sight. Still, he kept to the shadows and out of sight as he ventured deeper into the heart of the beast.

There it was, in the centre of the room. The MJOLNIR combat armour, surrounded by dozens of engineering staff. From what he could tell from the room he was in, they had managed to repair all the systems that had suffered damage during the Emp attack and brought the whole thing online. All he needed to do was get back inside, destroy all information these people had about him and the suit, escape and...well, he wasn't entirely sure what he would do with Six and Miriam Cramer. The first problem he had to deal with was how to get to the suit in the first place with all these people here? The sound of the door closing made Mitchell jump to his feet. Turning around, he came face to face with a security officer staring at him with a cup of coffee in each hand. It was also now that Mitchell realised just how naked he was; entirely. "Dude," began the officer, "you've got a really small di-" Mitchell kicked him face first into the door and grabbed the cups of coffee before they hit the floor.

"It's cold in here, arsehole." Mitchell looked at the officer's clothes, they were about a similar size to him. After changing, he left the room with one last comment for the unconscious officer. "A little piece of advice; next time, don't hesitate in going for the alarm." Mitchell stepped out into the engineering level and manoeuvred his way between people and equipment, like a maze, towards the suit.

"Attention." Called the cold, stern voice of Miriam Cramer. Mitchell's first instinct was to turn away but then he realised he was wearing a mask. "We are switching to a more advanced and secure facility. Finish any experiments or test you may be running then pack the necessary equipment to take with us. You have under an hour to comply." And she left without hesitation.

"Under an hour, for God's sake." Cursed the technician working directly on the body armour. "We'll barely have enough time to pack a toothbrush, let alone any of this equipment." Mitchell walked up to the man, hoping that his plan would work.

"Six wants a report before we leave." He said as 'militaristically' as he possibly could. "What is your progress?"

"Tell Six that his precious suit is almost complete." The technician spat. "The jets aren't exactly up to standards yet, but I should have the cup holders ready by next Tuesday."

"Cup holders?"

"It was a joke, Joyce." He mocked. "You're not exactly the brightest bulb. Why would anyone design cup holders on battle armour?" Mitchell considered this for a second.

"Would be quite convenient, though." He said. The technician looked up, intrigued by this new idea.

"Yeah, I suppose it would. Just in case." He jumped off the platform and ran over to one of the other technicians. "Sorenson, can we set it in the calendar to have cup holders installed into the body armour?"

"Sure. Wait, cup holders? Actually, that would be quite convenient." Admitted Sorenson.

"I know, right." Agreed the technician who returned to the armour. "Hey bud, tell Six tha-" He looked around and noticed the soldier was no longer there. He shrugged and went to pull the power cables out but saw that they had already been ejected.

"_I'd stand back if I were you."_ Said Mitchell from inside the armour. He knocked the technician away and began shooting out all of the computers in the room, destroying all the information he could as the room evacuated. Several of the guards tried to shoot Mitchell down but he made short work of them. Suddenly, the alarms blared. He turned to the room he had been in and saw the security officer by the alarm controls.

"Thanks for the advice, douchebag!" he shouted. Running away, he added; "That's it! I'm gonna transfer somewhere in the middle of an ocean!" Mitchell turned his attention to the technician, still lying on the floor.

"_All of the information you've gathered, where is it stored?"_ he asked, threatening the man with a raised fist.

"H-Here. You've destroyed it." Gasped the technician. "But that woman. She has a copy...on a hard drive. Everything is stored there."

"_Where is it kept?"_

"With her!" announced Miriam's voice from behind Mitchell. He turned and found her and Six standing at the far end of the room. "At all times. I'm glad to see you're up, Paxx. Shame what you had to do to Pascalle."

"_Like you give a damn."_

"I don't...but then again, neither did you. It's over, Paxx. Just because you have your armour back doesn't mean you'll succeed. Nobody knows where you are."

"_Then it looks like I'll just have to do the best I can!" _He shouted, charging towards them both. Six raised his service revolver and aimed it directly at Mitchell.

"No!" screamed Miriam, but it was too late. Six fired and the bullet passed right through Mitchell's stomach. He fell to the floor, blood dripping from his open wound.

"Don't try to get up, Colonel. There's no one here to save you now." He smiled down at the soldier.

"_Not yet."_ Laughed Mitchell. The suit started to beep.

"What is that?" asked Six. "Tell me!"

"It's a beacon, you idiot!" insulted Miriam. "You set it off when you shot him. Now they'll know where he is!" Six couldn't believe that he had been fooled, and Miriam was very, very pissed. "Set the nuclear detonator. They won't find him alive." She left Mitchell and Six alone.

"Looks like The Administrator won't be the only one dead before the war ends." Sneered Six. "Enjoy your crater." And then, Mitchell was alone. His injury may not have been life threatening, but all the trauma, all the pain and suffering had brought him down. There was barely enough strength to move. He didn't even react when the announcement rang out to evacuate. At least he was going out in a nuclear explosion. That had always been his dream. It was all about to come true.

**"Get up."** Grumbled a voice in his ear. There was nobody there. **"I said get up, Paxx!" **Mitchell suddenly started to feel stronger, the pain was fading. **"Your job's not done yet, soldier. You don't want to die knowing that you failed." **The voice was right; even after all this, Miriam would still get the information to safety and The Insurrection would win with Six leading them into victory. This wasn't over. **"Get up!" **As if pulled off the ground, Mitchell stood and followed Miriam and Six as fast as he could. The facility was starting to shut down, and as a result, most of the systems were destroying themselves. Some of the chambers were even ablaze. He kept on running, right through the fires, following the signs leading to the hangar. Finally, he made it, crashing through the doors and seeing Miriam and Six board a drop ship. Mitchell bolted to the ship as it powered up its engines. He leapt onto its wing and held on for dear life as it launched itself up into the sky. For the first time, Mitchell saw the vast complex he had been imprisoned inside, but didn't have time to take in the view. He edged his way along the wing, the turbulence making it difficult for him to keep hold. At long last, he reached the roof and the emergency hatch. They could hear him pounding on it from the outside. Dents were being made in the thick metal.

"Pilot! Shake him off us!" ordered Six. Abruptly, the Pelican began tumbling and weaving through the air. Mitchell was thrown back and forth, unable to keep a constant grip on anything. Then, as the drop ship shot up further into the sky, Mitchell slid down the Pelican's back, only just managing to hold onto its rear with one hand. But breaking through the atmosphere was causing too much turbulence. Finger by finger, one by one, he lost his hold and fell. Down, back towards the planet, tumbling, still reaching out for his redemption. The jets on his back fired, but cut out almost instantly. They were not working properly. He tried several small bursts to try and slow himself down before he hit the-

* * *

Mitchell stared up at the sky, marvelling at its beauty. The stars had come out and were so bright from this planet, he couldn't deny that the view was better than Earth. He didn't remember hitting the ground or how he ended up on his back in the sand. He didn't even feel his body which was probably broken, but at least his senses were numbed. As he admired the stars, a starship flew above him. He followed its course down with his eyes until they rested on The Insurrection base. At least, what was left of it. Already, the mushroom cloud was hanging brightly overhead, blazing up the sky like a sun. So much fire and destruction that it changed the world from night to day. Chaos was not a word that could describe the scene before him. Beautiful...but frightening. And with that in mind, Mitchell laid his head back and closed his eyes, waiting for sleep to overcome him.

* * *

**Thank you for reading! I hope you have enjoyed reading The Syn-Gem Stratagem - Year One. There will be another instalment later on in the year, but until then I shall be focusing on writing my first novel. The Administrator and his Syn-Gen Stratagem will return in Year Three. That is no mistake, Year Three. Thank you for reading, thank you for sending reviews/PMs and see you all again sometime!**


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